


The Trials of You

by Gwyddelig



Category: Glee
Genre: Additional Warnings May Apply, Alternate Universe - Dalton Academy, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst, Klaine, M/M, Niff, References to Assault, References to bullying, Soulmates, Things Are Changing, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-31
Updated: 2014-08-06
Packaged: 2018-01-27 19:28:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 32,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1719932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gwyddelig/pseuds/Gwyddelig
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Blaine Anderson came to Dalton, he was looking for a new beginning. He refused to let the past haunt him, even if that meant running away. What he didn't expect to find there was a friend in one broken boy whose secrets are kept wrapped in silence and who would change his life forever and throw him into a world beyond imagining.</p><p>(A Dalton AU.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A New Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Help me, Obi-wan Kenobi. You're my only hope." - Princess Leia, _Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is something I'm dabbling with... one of many things, honestly. I'm throwing it up here, unfinished, because I need some help. I'm hoping to find a beta-reader to help with cohesion and just to generally give me encouragement or whatever, brainstorm, the like. But these days, I have no idea where to look. Used to be, I could go on LJ or Yahoo!Groups/eGroups and whambamthankyouma'am. Nowadays it seems like everything's on Tumblr and I'm not well versed. And a little shy, to be honest. So yes... help?
> 
> Anyway, this idea started simple: Kurt was at Dalton before Blaine (same grade, same age). World-building: Dalton has history because baroque architecture is cool! Things for Kurt were a lot worse than in the OU. Other details of the Glee-verse have been changed (in my head, as yet) and will come into play as I get to them, as they come up. I have a vague plan and I hope it will entertain. Don't worry, Kurt isn't all hiding and silent/skittishness. He's more... awesome smart and talented with serious issues?
> 
> Please read and comment, offer help, kudos, delicious tempeh wraps, 85% dark cocoa bars, whatever. Feedback is fuel. Just, no hate mail please.
> 
> ~Amy

The Dalton Academy for Boys was a renowned institute of learning. It also boasted a zero-tolerance bullying policy that was strictly enforced.

 

It was, in words, perfect. Its prestige would keep his parents happy and its policies would keep him safe. A win for everyone. Even his mid-year transfer was no fuss – not given the circumstances... and a hefty donation to the school.

 

Blaine was sure he would have been allowed entrance even without the donation, but his parents liked to make their name shine and such 'philanthropic' actions were par for the course with them.

 

“Remember, call us if you need anything,” June Anderson told her son, placing a well manicured hand on his wrist delicately. He could see her restraining herself, her eyes telling him she wished to hug him tight and never let him go while her body sang with the tension of holding back, of maintaining decorum.

 

“I will, Mother,” Blaine assured her, placing a gentle kiss on her cheek – the most affection he was allowed to give in public.

 

She smiled at him gently, squeezing his wrist one time before letting go and taking her husband's arm.

 

His father, Devon Anderson, reached out to pat him on the shoulder. “Son,” he said in lieu of 'goodbye' and turned with his wife to leave. They hadn't even stayed long enough to see him to his dorm room, to see him settled and handed over to the care of whatever mentor they had picked for him.

 

Blaine knew from the outside, his family looked cold and formal – and perhaps they were, a bit. Appearances were important for people such as the Andersons and if that left others with the impression of coldness, then that was just how it would be. _He_ knew how they were at home. _He_ knew his parents loved him. That was all that mattered.

 

~*~

 

“Each wing has its own commons,” Wes was explaining as they walked through the marbled halls, a hand idly gesturing as if to indicate the grandeur surrounding them. “Though all of the common areas are open to any student who wishes to use them. Additionally there is a Senior Commons room in the Main House which is primarily used as the Warblers' practice room due to its relative isolation.”

 

“Warblers?” Blaine asked, speaking up for the first time since the tour began.

 

Wes grinned. “Our show choir. An acapella group uniquely run by a council of students rather than by a director. We have a sponsor, but he only is there to provide a chaperone to competitions and events. Otherwise, we're autonomous.”

 

It was a standard practice at Dalton, Blaine was coming to learn. Students were expected to take control of their education, an exercise meant to prepare them for navigating the real world. A slipping of the leash, as it were. No public school Blaine had ever attended would be so brazen as to allow students to control any aspect of their learning. It was a bit thrilling and worrisome in the same note.

 

“Do you sing, Blaine?” Wes questioned, drawing the youngest Anderson out of his consideration of the school's self-governing practice and back to the topic at hand.

 

Receiving a nod in response, a bright grin spread across Wes' face crinkling the corners of his eyes. “Then you should audition! The Warblers are always looking to incorporate new talent into their ranks.”

 

There it was again, the genuine and welcoming kindness that Blaine was finding exceptionally confusing. Then again, he was sure only a few yet knew the reason for his transfer, so it was only a matter of time before things changed and the coolness (at the very least since harassment and bullying of any kind were grounds for expulsion) returned.

 

After all, he had been fairly popular amongst his peers before he came out. A good looking boy with an ever-present friendly smile, Blaine seemed to make friends wherever he went. It had been naïve of him to think that coming out, being open and honest about who he was, would have no impact. He wasn't unaware of the trials of others, he'd just not thought it would happen to him. Even if this was Ohio.

 

What was more shocking was the quickness with which things had escalated. One minute he was everyone's Prince Charming and the next he was their punching bag. Because at first it hadn't seemed like anyone cared, not really, but the dance...

 

The worst part wasn't even the beating or the hospital stay. No, the worst part, to Blaine, was that the bastards got away with it. Completely and utterly. Scot-free.

 

Once he'd recovered, his parents had offered him Dalton on a silver platter and Blaine had accepted without a second thought. Escapist though it may be, it was a chance to start over, clean slate and he couldn't find it in himself to regret that – not yet.

 

“I think I'd like that,” Blaine told Wes with a smile.

 

~*~

 

“So, Blaine,” began one of the boys who had joined them in the East Wing's Common Room after the last bell rang. “How are you liking Dalton, so far?”

 

“A little overwhelming, to be honest,” Blaine replied, hazel eyes round and bright.

 

They'd made their way through seemingly endless buildings, Wes pointing out classrooms and libraries – “Yes, we have multiple.” – and dining halls and the student lounge complete with its own coffee bar – “You'll be an addict in no time!” – as well as the gym and pool area, eventually returning to the dormitories.

 

“It can be at first,” the boy – Jeff – agreed, brushing pale blond hair from walnut brown eyes. He reminded Blaine of a surfer: tall, gangly, and sun-kissed.

 

“You'll get the hang of it soon enough,” the other, a shorter brunet with a gentle smile who had introduced himself as Nick, soothed.

 

“Unlike some schools, students here are placed in a wing based on personality and background – in an effort to create a safe and happy environment for everyone,” Wes explained, gesturing around at the boys milling about. “This wing is mostly private rooms, though Nick and Jeff opted to room together.”

 

Jeff beamed. “We've been besties since we were six,” he proclaimed proudly, ignoring Nick who rolled his eyes. “When Nick's parents decided to enroll him at Dalton, I begged mine to let me go, too.”

 

Blaine stared wide eyed at Jeff wondering if he had any clue just what it cost to attend Dalton... or if that kind of thing even mattered to his family. Certainly, the Andersons were fairly well off, but it had been a long discussion, balancing the pros and cons, before the decision was made – even if the conclusion was forgone.

 

He knew, realistically, that most of the students at Dalton were from well-to-do families – between the cost of tuition and the prep-school aspect, the school tended to appeal to a very specific crowd.

 

A slight movement caught Blaine's eye, drawing his attention to a slender boy who slipped quietly out of the room. From what Blaine could tell he looked young, medium brown hair hanging down into his eyes, hiding his features in the shadow of his fringe. There was something almost phantasmic about him as he vanished through the door.

 

Noticing his distraction, the others turned in the same direction, but the boy was gone.

 

“Who was that?” Blaine asked, frowning, unsure if he'd really seen the boy or merely imagined him.

 

“That would have been Kurt,” Wes said with a sad smile. “Our resident Ghost.”

 

“Ghost?” Blaine asked incredulously, imagining wispy specters drifting through the halls as they teased and taunted the students. He might have enjoyed Harry Potter, but having his very own Nearly-Headless Nick or Moaning Myrtle was not something Blaine wanted to experience.

 

Wes shook his head. “Not a real one. He's just...”

 

“Wraith-like?” Jeff suggested, earning himself a jab in the ribs from Nick. “What?!”

 

“Kurt's really shy,” Wes offered, ignoring the officious boy. “He was a midterm transfer, like yourself. Came in last spring. I know it's not kindly, to call him a Ghost, but it's what he reminds us of. He drifts in or out with hardly a sound and there's a sadness about him. If you didn't see him, you'd never know he was there. Other than responses in class when he simply can't avoid it, I don't think he's spoken a word to anyone.”

 

“Not to anyone? How is that even possible?” For someone as gregarious as Blaine, the concept was one he couldn't fathom. His frown deepened.

 

Wes shrugged. “Everyone has their own story, I suppose. We have a number of boys here, in this wing, with stories similar to your own. Abuse and bullying are as common of reasons to attend Dalton as wealth and academics. I wasn't Kurt's mentor when he came here, so I wasn't privy to anything about him. I know he's very smart, extremely shy and quiet, obviously. He's openly gay, as well. But that's about it.”

 

“He's here on an academic scholarship,” Nick put in, shifting awkwardly as if he were uncomfortable gossiping about the boy behind his back.

 

Jeff, however, had no such compunctions. “I heard he was awarded the Dean's Scholarship. Full ride. They don't give that out to just anyone.”

 

Blaine was impressed, but Wes wasn't.

 

“Enough gossipmongering,” he ordered, mouth tight and defensive. “Let's head to dinner, shall we?”

 

~*~

 

Dinner was a relaxed affair, it appeared: blazers off, ties loosened, even a few shirt-tails untucked revealing that, underneath all the pomp, at the end of the day boys were still boys and Dalton was no exception.

 

Jeff had heaped his plate with meatloaf and mashed potatoes, slopping the mess in thick, dark gravy with a scattering of peas and translucent rings of onion. “I love meatloaf night!” he declared, practically throwing himself into the chair beside Nick.

 

“No, really?” his friend teased with an exaggerated roll of his eyes.

 

“I can't help it! It's just so good!” Jeff moaned around a mouthful, earning himself a glare from Wes.

 

“Talk or eat, Jeffrey, but do _not_ do both at the same time,” he insisted haughtily, carefully shuffling peas onto his fork.

 

Jeff swallowed, eyes sparkling mischievously from beneath the fringe of his hair. “You know, it works better if you mix them in with the mash,” he grinned, licking errant gravy from his lips. Wes made a face, almost twitching at the suggestion and Jeff snickered, turning to Blaine. “Wes hates for his food to touch. He once petitioned for Dalton to look into those cafeteria trays they use for kindergardeners. You know, the ones with sections and a place for your milk carton.”

 

Wes sniffed primly and proceeded to ignore him, turning instead to Blaine. “You know, Blaine, Dalton has quite a history,” he commented with pride.

 

“Here it goes!” Jeff hissed excitedly, almost bouncing in his seat with enthusiasm as Nick shushed him.

 

“Dalton is a not just a school,” Wes explained, waving a fork about to encompass the whole of the school and the grounds beyond. “Mr. Dalton was a business mogul originating in California, but his biggest investments lay in Ohio. In the late '20s he decided to settle closer to his assets and purchased land on the outskirts of Westerville. For the design of what is now known as the Main House, he contracted an architect by the name of Lionel Bresson – impressed by his studies in Baroque design at the American Academy in Rome and the Ecole des Beaux Arts in Paris. Many of the House's design elements, even those of the stable and equestrian grounds, are taken directly from the famed Chateau de Vaux-le-Vicomte – which itself was an inspiration for the Palace of Versailles. An odd choice for Ohio, but Dalton would not be deterred.

 

“Despite the Depression, they broke ground in early 1929, employing local craftsmen for the majority of the work. It was a boon to the community and Dalton was honored for his assistance in such a time of struggle. When construction finished the following year, Mr. Dalton had an inspiration – or so it is claimed. It's said he took in the grandeur before him and the men around him, the sprawling acres of the estate, and saw that it could be more. His family only resided in the house for the two or so years it took to design and build the rest of the estate which would become Dalton Academy. During the same time, the Daltons built a smaller home closer to the center of Westerville proper that would eventually become the Mayor's House. Westerville made it through the Depression quite well off and Dalton has been a celebrated part of the city ever since,” the Senior boy finished with a flourish and a rumble of his stomach.

 

“I love when he gets on a tangent about Dalton,” Nick sighed out amid bouts of giggles as Wes resumed his dinner.

 

“That's not all, either,” Jeff put in, sweeping the last of his potatoes onto his fork before licking it clean. “Dalton set aside a small fortune for assistance programs with the intent that the school would be a safe place for boys in need. These days it doesn't cover much, even with the Alumni donations, but they offer scholarships in varying amounts to those of particular need and those of particular excellence, I believe is how it's worded.”

 

Nick nodded. “A fair amount of the boys attending have some kind of scholarship – covering mostly dorm fees and meal plans, even partial tuition,” he said, then soberly added. “And occasionally, a Dean's is handed out. It's very rare and the qualifications are strict, something along the lines of exceptional need paired with academic excellence. I think the circumstances have to be pretty extreme for them to hand out a Dean's Scholarship.”

 

Blaine considered what Nick had said with a frown, wondering if what he was implying was related to Jeff's earlier supposition about Kurt. He felt like he was missing something important that would give him a clearer picture, but he couldn't for the life of him grasp what it may be.

 

“Dalton is a haven, let's not forget that,” Wes told them all, giving the Jeff and Nick a stern look and cutting off Blaine's train of thought. “Let's finish up here and take Blaine to the Common Room to meet the others, shall we?”

 

~*~

 

The East Wing Common Room was packed with boys when the quartet entered. A number of them were gathered around a large television watching a pair duke it out in some fighting game, cheering now and again as the opponents landed a good combo or knock out. Others were sprawled out on the floor or across various pieces of furniture, entertaining themselves or chatting with each other.

 

“East Wing!” Wes boomed, throwing his hands out to the sides dramatically as all eyes turned to him. Someone had the presence of mind, and maybe the audacity, to pause the game before giving over their attention. “We have a new resident! This is Blaine Anderson. Make him feel welcome!”

 

It was like a flood, or some strange magnetic force, as the boys hauled themselves up and practically swarmed over to meet their new dorm mate.

 

“Hi, I'm Trent!” said a bubbly, round-faced boy with a warm smile. “Welcome to East Wing. We hope you like it here.”

 

Trent was gently pushed aside by a taller boy with jet black hair. “Thad,” he said simply, offering Blaine a handshake and a smile. “Welcome.”

 

And so it went, a flurry of names and handshakes and smiles – all of which seemed genuine and pleasant. Eventually though, everyone drifted back to their entertainment, and Blaine took a moment to breathe after being the center of so much attention.

 

“Blaine, would you like to go with me to check on Kurt?” Wes offered once things had settled down and even Jeff and Nick had drifted over to another group that was idly chatting around a table of cards.

 

“Check on?”

 

“I just want to make sure he's doing alright,” Wes told him. “My duty as prefect is to see to it that all of you are taken care of. For some that means being in your rooms and not out wandering around after curfew. For others it merely means looking in on and making sure you don't need anything. For Kurt it's a mix of both. He has a tendency to lose himself in the Glenn Library or reading on the window seat in the back hall near the gardens. On rare occasion, I've found him in the Drawing Room. Usually, however, he's in his own room at this time of night.”

 

Something occurred to Blaine. “He wasn't at dinner.”

 

Wes' smile was sad and a little concerned, but not at all surprised. “He usually isn't. And he'll take breakfast before the rest of us get up,” he explained. “You might see him at lunch, but he won't stay. I think the crowd bothers him.”

 

Blaine could understand that. Well, not personally, but in a sense. He himself had the opposite problem: being alone made him nervous. It wasn't as bad as it had been, but he still occasionally found himself jumping at noises or watching over his shoulder when he was walking alone. For Blaine, a crowd was far more preferable.

 

“Come on, then,” Wes urged, turning down the hall that lead to the dormitories themselves. “He's actually in the same corridor as you, a few doors down on the opposite side.”

 

As they walked, Blaine took in the warm wood of the panelling and the golden glow of the wall-sconces. The floors were hardwood, as opposed to the marble of the Main House, and lined with a thick runner – both to deaden the noise of footsteps and for added warmth in the cold Ohio winters.

 

He'd been to his dorm room earlier that day, but had paid little attention to the décor. It really was rather cozy and welcoming, wrapping them up and keeping them snug.

 

They stopped at the end of the hall in front of a door with a photo of car taped to it. With an amused smile, Wes knocked against the solid wood beneath the numbers 22B. A B room, one with its own bath, the occupant not sharing with the room beside it. _Lucky_ , Blaine thought to himself.

 

“Kurt?” Wes called gently through the door.

 

There was a soft shuffling and then the door was opened. The boy didn't open it far, standing in such a way as to suggest he had situated himself to be able to stop the door from opening further should someone try and force their way in. When Blaine raised his gaze to the boy's face, he felt his breath leave him.

 

Before when he'd seen Kurt, he'd only caught a glimpse of him. Now though, seeing him... Kurt had the most amazing eyes he had ever encountered. Sure, they weren't as exotically striking as those of the Afghan girl from the cover of National Geographic, but they were absolutely gorgeous. Some unnamable shade of grey-blue-green with flecks of gold near the center, like the sea after a storm while the clouds lingered and the sunlight broke through glinting off the breakers.

 

“Hi, Kurt,” Wes said, once again breaking Blaine from his train of thought. “Just checking on you. I also wanted to introduce you to Blaine. He just transferred in. If you need anything, he's in number twenty-seven.”

 

Regaining his sense of manners, Blaine smiled. “Hi,” he offered, a little baffled at the odd comment from Wes. After all, Blaine was the new kid, it should be the other way around, shouldn't it? “I hope we can be friends.”

 

Kurt simply looked at him, then turned back to Wes as if to say _'was there anything else?'_ to which he shook his head, gentle smile still in place.

 

“Have a good night, Kurt,” was all he said, turning away and leading a baffled Blaine back toward the Common Room.

 

“That was... different,” Blain finally commented as they reached the room and settled into a pair of open chairs off to the side.

 

Wes had the decency to look repentant. “I'm sorry, I shouldn't have offered you up like that. You're new here, you don't need that kind of pressure after everything.”

 

“No, it's okay,” Blaine protested. “I was just surprised is all. It was... atypical.”

 

“Yeah,” Wes agreed. “I suppose I just figured... Well, I'm more protective of him than I am of the rest of the boys under my charge and I guess I just thought... I don't know, that you could look out for him? That maybe he would open up to you?”

 

“Because we're both gay?” The question wasn't incredulous or even snippy, merely curious and Wes waved a hand dismissively.

 

“No, I mean it doesn't hurt, but that's not why I had hoped...” A frown tugged at one corner of his mouth. “You have this... way with people. I noticed it today: everyone you met was instantly put at ease, instantly liked you.”

 

“Except for Kurt,” Blaine pointed out.

 

“I was under no illusions that even your magical powers could put him at ease in the first meeting,” Wes retorted, his smile sardonic. “But I think, given time, you could win him over, could show him that he can trust people and that Dalton is a safe place. I don't know even the beginning of what he went through before he got here, and while I think gossiping about someone behind their back is wrong. I think what Nick implied is correct – whatever it was that drove him here, that sent us this specter of a boy to take care of, it was bad. He _does_ have a Dean's Scholarship and they _do_ only hand it out under very strict circumstances. Academic excellence isn't enough, even combined with financial need it isn't enough.”

 

In a surprising move, Wes ran a hand through his hair, mussing the severe style beyond repair.

 

“I'm no psychologist, but I get the feeling he was bullied, badly and for a long time. And not by just one person,” he sighed unhappily. “I think that no one noticed or, if they did, they ignored it until it became impossible _not_ to notice or _to_ ignore. I also get the feeling that he hasn't had too many people he could call 'friend' and I want to change that.”

 

Blaine was moved by the boy in front of him, how passionately Wes felt and how desperately he wanted to simply help. He wondered if all the boys at Dalton were this compassionate toward one another. Nick and Jeff were nice – if a little callously 'speak-first-think-later' on Jeff's part – and the others he'd met had been warm and welcoming. He supposed only time would tell.

 

“I'll do it,” he agreed after a moment, though it had never been his intention decline. There was something about Kurt – something other than his gorgeous eyes – that had called to Blaine, that made him curious. And the more he learned – little though it may be – the more he wanted to see who the boy was behind the silence and the sad, drawn eyes.

 

Wes smiled, the same gentle smile on his lips that had been there when he spoke to Kurt earlier. “Thank you, Blaine, you won't regret it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My silly little car-geeky reference: 
> 
> 22B refers to the very rare (only 424 made) 1998 widebody Subaru Impreza WRX STI 22B coupe. (2.2L Horizontally Opposed Turbo Engine [Boxer] {H4} with 280 horsepower) (Hence the car photo taped to the door... looks like this: http://www.j-garage.com/pic/5/22b/1.jpg ) There is only one in the entire world for sale at the time of this post and it's going for $84,800 in New South Wales, Australia -- to give you an idea, a 2015 limited production (1000 units) Subaru WRX STI Launch Edition (with a 2.5L H4 Turbo with 305 horsepower) starts at just under $40,000 US bone stock (which is still cushy!).
> 
> I like cars. I love Subarus. *shrug* I'm done, sorry.


	2. Grok

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> grok |gräk| _v._ ( **groks** , **grokking** , **grokked** ) [with obj.] informal  
> understand (something) intuitively or by empathy.  
> *[no obj.] empathize or communicate sympathy; establish a rapport.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, I didn't intend to take this long to finish this chapter. Life does the getting in the way thing. That and I piddled with it to the point I just had to say 'okay, I'm done or I'll never post it'. That said, I hope you like it. I have a vague direction, but all kinds of other things keep popping into my head and I'm not sure exactly which of those ideas will be used and which won't. I can't promise set dates for posting or anything like that (you'll probably be lucky to get a chapter a month with how my life tends to go).
> 
> Someone suggested we get to see things from Kurt's point of view... it may happen, it may not. I have a horrid tendency to write very strict third-person limited. I'm trying to escape that because I want you all to know Kurt... just not before Blaine does.
> 
> Anyway, if there was ever a time I wished for a beta-reader, it'd be now. I'm chewing my nails in anxiety over this one. Please be gentle.
> 
> As always: comments/reviews welcome. Constructive criticism always accepted. Hate mail and flames, keep them to yourself. Remember Thumper.

Chapter 2: Grok

 

“Kurt, hi,” Blaine called with a smile, slipping into an empty desk near where the quiet boy was sitting. Other students were filing in, groups chatting amicably in 'indoor voices' that generated a low hum in the otherwise silent classroom.

 

Classes at Dalton were small in comparison to the ones Blaine had attended at public school. So far as he could tell, most of them consisted of no more than fifteen to twenty students while others had as few as ten – giving the teacher more one-on-one time with each pupil. Gym class had by far been the largest with more than thirty boys in attendance, but that made sense: group sports were far more fun with higher numbers.

 

A week in and all in all, Blaine was liking it. The boys were friendly and polite, the teachers invested and enthusiastic, he was making friends again and had an audition scheduled with the Warblers for the following Thursday – really, he couldn't be much happier.

 

Before Blaine could attempt to strike up a conversation with the boy beside him, the teacher came in and called for their attention. She was a dark beauty of a woman with softly, elegant features and seemed to love her subject of choice. Blaine was rather taken with her – though not in the same fashion as some of the other boys in the class – and enjoyed her class immensely.

 

“Alright class, homework to the front and no excuses,” Ms. Chase announced turning to the blackboard and scrawling the word 'grok' across it in graceful, chalky script. “Now, if you will turn to page 397...” she continued, waiting for the rustling to pass before taking up her own copy and reading aloud.

 

“'Yes. Self. I must grok each cusp myself alone. And so must you... and so must each self. Thou art God.'

 

'I can't accept the nomination.'

 

'You can't refuse it. Thou art God and I am God and all that groks is God, and I am all that I have ever been or seen or felt or experienced. I am all that I grok.'” Ms. Chase read aloud with calm passion and intensity. The conversation went on down the page, but she stopped there, closing the book, gaze sweeping over the class as they digested the passage. The subject was, to this day, considerably controversial – as was the whole novel, really – and he knew she was watching for reactions before she continued.

 

Several boys shift uncomfortably, glancing about the room or squirming in their seats. Blaine pegged them as coming from rather religious backgrounds where the talk of one's self as anything resembling God was tantamount to blasphemy. Even Blaine himself, non-religious as he was, found naming yourself God a bit unsettling.

 

“What is Mike trying to tell Jubal about 'grok'?” she asked finally, still looking from boy to boy as if working through a game of 'eany meany miney mo'. “He's said the word countless times during the course of the story, but here he's implying that there is more to it, more than just understanding or comprehending. And not necessarily sex. Although, yes, sex is shown to be part of it.” She admonished knowingly to a smattering of titters. “Anyone? Mr. Hummel,” Ms. Chase said with a nod and a smile.

 

“It's connection, a deep understanding,” Kurt said softly, drawing Blaine's startled attention. His voice was high and lilting like a delicate bird who had learned to form words and occasionally deigned to speak them rather than sing. “It's the idea that once you _understand_ , once you 'grok something to fullness', you are connected to it – be it a person or an object, a concept or an experience. It becomes part of you and you part of it, intimately and irrevocably, because grokking is mutual – a communion, if you will.”

 

“Wonderful,” the teacher said approvingly. “Thank you, Mr. Hummel. Yes, to grok is to understand something so deeply a connection is made. When Mike links the grokking to God, he's implying that all things are connected and each connection builds on the next, unifying all things – in this case, God symbolizes unity. It's that because you grok something, if I grok you, you grok me and I grok all you grok and you grok all I grok and all you grok groks me and all I grok groks you, and so on.”

 

Befuddled, the sentence whirled in Blaine's mind, making sense and yet confusing him in the same instant. He blinked a few times, trying to clear the ever spiraling 'groks' from his mind. Ms. Chase seemed pleased, an amused smile stretching her lips gently across her face as she turned her attention back to the class as a whole.

 

“Your assignment,” she instructed, ignoring the small chorus of groans. “Is to come up with a one page paper, which you will present in class tomorrow, discussing the relevance of 'grok' in your lives and describing what issues grokking could resolve for you. For the remaining time, work with a neighbor to brainstorm your topics.” A small cheer went up, but Ms. Chase's eyes narrowed. “This is not an excuse for gossip and chit chat, so stay on subject.”

 

With that, Blaine had no trouble. It was, after all, the perfect subject for him – probably for a great many boys here at Dalton as well. He already had an idea of what he wanted to write, but there was no way he was going to miss out on an opportunity to try and speak to Kurt.

 

Blaine turned, a bright and friendly grin stretched across his face. “So, any ideas?” he asked with genuine interest.

 

Kurt himself looked uncomfortable, glancing up from beneath his artfully shaggy bangs while attempting to shrink back into himself. Blaine wondered just what Kurt had gone through that he immediately responded to an innocent question in such a way. It obviously wasn't kindness, he figured and continued to smile as honestly as possible.

 

Truth be told, the reaction was saddening. No one should feel the need to defend themselves when asked a harmless question, yet here was Kurt, all but sinking into his seat in an effort to evade the presence beside him.

 

“I was thinking of writing about how grokking could engender an acceptance in those who seek to persecute others for being different,” Blaine offered when no response was forthcoming. It proved to be the wrong thing.

 

Kurt's eyes narrowed, his face shuttering and going cold. “What do you know about it?” he hissed harshly, sitting up ramrod straight, hackles raised. It reminded Blaine of a cat, fur raised and spiting fury. After a moment, though, Kurt's words seemed to catch up with him and the color drained from his face so quickly Blaine was afraid he'd faint.

 

“Nothing, I mean, I--” Blaine began, hands raised in an effort to placate. Another miss-move it seemed as Kurt flinched and tumbled to the floor with a thud. The ensuing scramble drew the attention of the rest of the class as Kurt fought to free his legs from his chair and climb to his feet.

 

“Just leave me alone!” he cried and fled the room.

 

Blaine blinked in confusion. Never had someone reacted to him in such an extreme way.

 

“Mr. Anderson?”

 

His shoulders sagging in defeat, Blaine turned to look up at Ms. Chase. “I wasn't-- I just...”

 

“It's alright, Blaine,” she said gently. Her hand found its way to his shoulder and squeezed. She might have thought it was, but it wasn't. It really wasn't. “I'm sure Jeffrey and Caleb wouldn't mind discussing their ideas with you.”

 

“Yes, ma'am,” he sighed. Wes was going to kill him.

 

~*~

 

“So I hear you had a fun and exciting day in English class,” Wes commented sarcastically as he stopped beside the table Blaine had claimed in the student lounge. His dark eyes were unreadable, but there was no anger present in his visage so Blaine counted himself lucky for that.

 

“Yeah,” he replied with a heavy sigh, dropping his eyes and spinning his coffee cup between flat palms dejectedly. Blaine really hated disappointing people. Wes might not be angry, but the bland expression didn't preclude disappointment. And Blaine wasn't ready to see that. It didn't matter that he'd known Wes barely twenty-four hours: he was someone Blaine respected, someone who had placed faith in him, and the first thing he had done was muck it up.

 

“Want to tell me about it?” The offer was made with such sincerity that Blaine jerked his head up, eyes wide and bright with surprise. Wes chuckled. “Relax, Blaine. I'm not going to berate you. No one could have predicted that Kurt would react that way. He's always so meek and avoidant.”

 

 _Like he's been beaten down time and again_ went unsaid, but simmered there between them.

 

They were both silent for a moment, considering the scenario. It was true. No one knew Kurt, not really. The teachers probably had a fair idea of what he brought him to Dalton, but the students... Kurt never talked to anyone. He seemed more like an apparition than a person, there but not really.

 

Only he was a person, one with whom Blaine desperately wanted to make things right.

 

“I wasn't expecting you to become buddy-buddy with him on the first go,” Wes said, breaking the drifting silence. “Or the second. Maybe not even the third. But you did succeed today, even if you don't realize it.”

 

Confused, Blaine frowned. How in the name of all that's Holy did Wes count _that_ mess a success? To Blaine, it was an utter failure. Absolute and unequivocal. “What do you mean? I practically gave him a panic attack. He flew from the room as if the bats of Hell were on his heals! In what world is that succeeding?”

 

Wes merely smiled, giving Blaine's arm a conciliatory pat as if to say _you're young and naïve and I pity you for it_. “You got him to say something that wasn't a response to a teacher,” he pointed out.

 

Blaine groaned, then paused. It was true. Even if it had been bitter and defensive, Kurt _had_ spoken to him. It might not have been easy conversation or even banal discussion of the assigned topic, but there had been words. Words Kurt apparently hadn't shared with anyone else in the time he'd been there.

 

“I'm his prefect, Blaine,” Wes pointed out. “And he barely acknowledges my existence, let alone speaks to me. Not 'good morning' or even 'excuse me'. Regardless of whether it was in panic or anger, he's said more to you today than he has to _anyone_ who wasn't an adult in the entire time he's been here. That has to count for something.”

 

“Even if those words included 'leave me alone'?” Blaine asked disconsolately.

 

“Yes, even then,” Wes grinned. He sobered after a moment, a considering look crossing his face. He had just opened his mouth to comment when Jeff flopped down in the open chair between them.

 

“Meow!” he crowed, grinning broadly brushing disorderly blond bangs from his eyes. “Kitty cat has claws! Who'd have thought? Ffft hiss! Blainey-boy better watch out or kitty might scratch up his pretty face, then where would he be? It was actually kind of ho–”

 

Jeff's head jerked as Nick walked by and smacked the back of it. “I don't see what concern that is of yours, Jeffrey,” he snapped, settling himself across from Jeff.

 

“It is when Blaine might be mauled!” Jeff protested, brown eyes quivering in distress. His overblown attempt at puppy-like innocence was completely lost on Nick, who scowled.

 

“Jeffrey, do yourself a favor and shut up before you dig yourself any deeper,” Nick hissed, taking his own seat at the table.

 

“But--”

 

“Children, please,” Wes cut off Jeff's protest with a look he typically reserved for those he considered most daft. “Jeffrey, your comments are insensitive and unbecoming of a gentleman of Dalton.”

 

“Occasionally, I'm callous and strange,” Jeff mumbled, somewhat contrite though a smirk lingered at the corners of his mouth.

 

Nick kicked him under the table.

 

“Ow!”

 

Despite his dour mood, Blaine chuckled. It was hard to hold onto his melancholy when Niff, as he'd heard them called, was around. The pair certainly were a source of never ending entertainment.

 

“If you two could stop flirting for a half a moment,” Wes commented dryly, gazing with disdain on the scowling match that was developing – and earning himself a pink tongue from the more immature of the two. “Blaine and I were having a conversation.”

 

“Sure, converse away!”

 

“Alone.”

 

“But I want to talk to Blainey too!” Jeff whined earning himself another kick. “Damnit, Nicky, that hurts!”

 

“Jeffrey.”

 

“Fine, fine!” Jeff huffed, standing. His chair shot back dramatically with a screech across the marble floor. “I can see where I'm not wanted. C'mon, Nicky, let's go to our room and have our own alone conversation.”

 

“Is that what they're calling it these days?” Wes teased with a roll of his eyes, though he was smiling at Jeff's antics even as the boy stuck out his tongue again and looped his arm through Nick's to drag him away.

 

It was a good thing Nick had already stood, because Blaine was certain if he hadn't Jeff might just have dragged him off, chair and all.

 

Wes shook his head. “Those two will be the death of me. I'm sure of it.”

 

“At least you'll die laughing?” Blaine offered, chuckling softly at his own joke.

 

“That I will,” Wes agreed. “So are you ready to tell me what happened with Kurt?”

 

~*~

 

Blaine stood out of sight as Wes knocked on Kurt's door later that afternoon. It wasn't that he was afraid of Kurt's response to seeing him, not at all. It was more along the lines of not wanting to give the him any more reason to be upset or throw him into another panic.

 

There was a certain fragility to Kurt that was unmistakable. From the way the prefects and teachers offered him only the gentlest of smiles or spoke to him with carefully chosen words, to the obvious reaction he'd had to Blaine during class. Something was not right in Kurt's world and if Blaine wanted to get the other boy to warm up to him, he would have to tread lightly.

 

The more he looked at the situation, the more Blaine realized it was a mistake to just jump right in like that. To suggest a topic that, for some people, might be considered a trigger. A topic he now knew was one for Kurt. Whatever the cause, he had obviously closed himself off to those around him, not saying an unnecessary word to anyone, period. It had been silly of Blaine to think he could waltz in and change that.

 

Only, he had. In a way.

 

What difference it made, he didn't yet know, but Kurt had spoken to him – practically bitten his head off, but there had been words nevertheless.

 

“Hi, Kurt,” he heard Wes say from his place a few doors down. “Ms. Chase told me what happened in class today and I just wanted to check on you and see that you were alright.”

 

Blaine imagined perhaps a nod or some kind of stare, though no verbal response was forthcoming. Maybe Kurt glared at Wes heatedly, scowling and crossing his arms over his chest, pursing his lips. Or maybe the fear was there, the nervous expression like after Kurt had realized he'd snapped.

 

“I'm glad,” Wes continued, obviously satisfied with whatever non-response Kurt had given him. “Blaine wanted to apologize, but he was worried seeing him would make you uncomfortable. He's truly sorry. It was never his intention to upset you. He's a really nice guy and just want's to be your friend.”

 

What was Kurt's reaction to Wes' words? Skeptical? Pleased? Nervous? Uncomfortable? Blank? Did he smile at Wes or frown? Did his eyes widen in surprise or narrow in distrust? Did he quirk his mouth to the side, bite his lip? The silence allowed for untold amounts of possibilities and Blaine couldn't bring himself to peek around and see – afraid that instead of any number of acceptable expressions, instead he'd find Kurt's face stricken as it had been before.

 

Blaine never wanted to see that blind panic painted across Kurt's elfin features ever again. Even the blank stare from the previous night was preferable. Sure, he'd rather see what Kurt's face looked like when lit up with elation or soft in sleepy contentment--

 

Blaine stopped himself. _Bad Blaine, don't go there_ , he told himself firmly. Just because Kurt was beautiful...

 

He stifled a groan, mentally kicking himself. This was not the time to be developing an attraction to some boy. Especially not some boy who may well be a bit more broken than Blaine himself. And most especially, some boy who happened to be Kurt.

 

“You should give him a chance to explain, it might surprise you,” Wes was saying, confident and sure that his belief in Blaine was well placed. “Anyway, I won't keep you. Have a good night, Kurt.”

 

The door shut and Blaine wrenched himself from his hiding place – okay, it wasn't so much a hiding place as a just out of sight place, but still.

 

“So?”

 

“Let it lie for now,” Wes declared, his mouth twisted as if he were considering deeply how to phrase his next words. “I don't think the direct approach, even from you, is our best course of action. It was a good try, but I think... I don't know what I think.” Blaine didn't like the defeated sigh Wes let out or the frustration that colored his face sour. “If we knew more, it wouldn't be so much like walking on eggshells. But unless something big happens, I don't see him opening up and telling anyone any time soon.”

 

“He did speak to me,” Blaine pointed out, reminded Wes of his earlier statement which earned him a raised eyebrow. “Okay, he all but yelled at me, but it could be a starting place. My suggestion of discussing how understanding could breed acceptance struck a nerve. There's something there – what exactly I'm not sure – but maybe if I show him that I _do_ understand, at least to some extent, he might be receptive. You said he's openly gay, right?”

 

Wes nodded. “It's listed on his dorm application. The school only asks to better place students. It's not a segregation thing,” he defended quickly, even though Blaine knew the applications asked for sexual preference for placement purposes. After all, he'd had to fill one out himself. “They don't lump all the gay students into one wing. Although East Wing does probably have the majority, but that's because East is where they put most of the students who come to Dalton for safety. Would you feel safe in West? There are no private rooms there and most of the boys in that Wing are jocks. Even if they're Dalton men, even if they're nothing like the guys who hurt you, would you feel safe there?”

 

“No, I suppose I wouldn't,” Blaine agreed.

 

“As for openly, well, I only have the fact that he placed it on his application to go on, but I'd say he's out.”

 

Wes' appeared ill at ease. He abhorred gossip, something Blaine had already figured out, and it was obvious that he was torn between helping Kurt and the sick feeling it must have given him to be speaking about the boy behind his back. Not that it would stop Wes from his goal, but it obviously disquieted him.

 

“We're just trying to help him,” Blaine pointed out. “We can't help him if we don't know anything.”

 

“I know,” Wes sighed. “Doesn't make it feel any less wrong to be sharing his personal information with someone. Those files are given to the prefects to help us best look out for our charges. Not for us to go popping off about kids behind their backs.”

 

“How about we talk about me instead?” Blaine offered, ignoring the 'kid' comment and giving Wes a grin. “I think I have an idea.”

 

~*~

 

“Ms. Chase?”

 

Blaine shifted his weight from one foot to the other as the teacher looked up from the papers she was grading. It was his free period and he'd spent a good deal of it dithering over the essay he was writing for her class later on in the day.

 

He'd felt bad that Kurt had run off after the previous day's class and had changed his mind about writing a paper on homophobia - in essence, he chickened out. But after talking to Wes, Blaine was determined to do  _something_ to make things right and he hoped returning to his original concept was the way to do that. Sharing himself, his story was a calculated risk. It could go badly with Kurt. It could go badly for _him_. He would sink or he would swim, but either way he'd do it being true to himself and his beliefs.

 

“Mr. Anderson, what can I do for you?” she asked, setting her red pencil down and clasping her hands in front of her. The way she gave Blaine her full attention made him smile.

 

“I, uh, I wanted to ask you. I know we turned in topic choices at the end of class, but I was-- well, I wanted to change mine. What I gave you was safe and not as important to me as what I wrote instead and well--”

 

“Blaine,” Ms. Chase said gently, interrupting his rambling monologue. “That's fine, Blaine. I don't mind. In fact, I encourage students to write and discuss what they're passionate about. I'd much rather see you write a paper about something important to you than to try and force you to mold your words and thoughts into a box of someone else's creation or to discuss something that matters less to you.”

 

Oh yes, Blaine liked her. He liked her very much. “Thank you!” he piped, shoulders sagging in relief.

 

She smiled at him. “Dalton is in the business of educating young men, not molding them. Some might think those ideas one in the same, but they're not. Though neither are they mutually exclusive. We want our students to think for themselves, my job is to give you the tools to do so. I'm not going to tell you 'no, you have to write what you gave me' because that doesn't teach you anything but submitting or settling. I'm not here to raise sheep. If you want to be brave, to rise above the flock, then who am I to stand in your way?”

 

Returning her smile, Blaine thanked her again and headed back to his dorm room to finish the essay. And if his step was a little bouncier than it was before, there was no one around to comment on it.

 

~*~

 

'ORAL REPORT' the board read in large, cursive letters cause a scattering of groans to go up around the room as the students took notice.

 

Blaine had been prepared for it, welcomed it, hoped for it even – a small grin lighting his face upon seeing the usually dreaded words. If things went well, Kurt would understand that _Blaine_ understood, that he was sorry for the previous day, and maybe – if all went well – it would be a move toward making Kurt realize that, Blaine at least, wouldn't judge him. And if the boys of Dalton proved to be the men Wes claimed them to be, perhaps it might also prove that Dalton was the safe place it touted itself as.

 

“Quieten down, class,” Ms. Chase insisted, never raising her voice but speaking with a firm authority. “We've sixteen reports to get through and only seventy-five minutes to get through them in. We'll go alphabetically. Mr. Adams, if you will start us off.”

 

Blaine listened to the boy – Victor he thought – describe his dyslexia and the common misunderstanding that he was stupid because his disability made numbers confuse him and words were difficult to spell. Victor spoke about how hard he had to struggle to spell words the rest of his peers took for granted and how if they could 'grok' the difficulty he faced, then maybe they wouldn't be so quick to judge him for his disability and instead for who he was as a person and the thoughts he had that he just couldn't put to words. It was moving and honest, something Blaine knew he'd never have encountered in public school where image was more important than being true to one's self.

 

“Thank you, Victor,” Ms. Chase said kindly as the boy retook his seat. Blaine was surprised that she didn't offer any other words or comments, but he was relieved to know whatever criticisms she might have, Ms. Chase didn't share them with the class. “Mr. Anderson.”

 

Taking a deep breath and putting on his performance face, Blaine moved to the front. “Hi,” he greeted the class with a smile. “I'm new, so most of you don't really know me. Or the reason I came to Dalton mid-year.

 

“For those of you who don't know, I'm gay. I came out last fall, a few weeks before Thanksgiving Break. Things seemed to go fine, no one was overtly antagonistic about it – mostly just a few slurs and whispers – but I did lose a few friends over it. I didn't figure it was a big deal, it showed me who my real friends were and if the others couldn't deal with me being gay, that was their problem.

 

“Not too long after, there was a Sadie Hawkins dance. I really wanted to go so I asked a friend of mine, the only other out boy I knew, to go with me. Just friends who both happened to be gay.

 

“I knew some people were reticent to talk to me, but I didn't think much of it at the time. I wished later that I had paid more attention. Maybe if I had, I would have thought twice about asking the only other out boy at the school to go with me. Maybe I wouldn't have gone at all.

 

“Instead I went, with Cody, and I had a wonderful time. We danced, we had punch, it was fun. Then, while we were waiting for his dad to come pick us up these three guys came up and beat the living crap out of us. I remember them throwing insults and slurs at us, calling us 'fags' and 'homos' and anything else nasty they could come up with. After that though, I don't remember a thing.

 

“When I woke up in the hospital a couple days later, my parents told me what happened. They told me how Cody's dad had arrived and run the jocks off. They told me how lucky Cody and I were that we weren't hurt worse than we were – what they meant was that we weren't dead. And they told me, unless Cody or I knew who they were, no one could ID our attackers. It was dark and we both had taken blows to the head, all we knew was they were big, bigger than us.”

 

Blaine paused, taking a deep breath and feeling himself shake with controlled rage. “They beat us up and got away with it,” he hissed.

 

“I've thought a lot about how I felt afterward – which was mostly crappy and sore at first,” he offered the class a self-deprecating grin to break the tension, eyes roaming over their faces, lingering briefly on Kurt. “Then there was the anger. Not just at what had happened, but that they got away with it. Sometimes, I'm still angry about that – mostly because it's just so unfair and I'm afraid they'll do what they did to me and Cody to someone else. Then there was the guilt: if I hadn't been so brazen, if I had paid more attention to the change in the social climate, if I hadn't asked Cody to go with me, it could have all been avoided.

 

“Ms. Chase asked us to think about what 'grok' means to us and what issues grokking could help resolve in our lives. I kind of figured 'grok' was pretty clear: understanding so deep that you can't help but accept it because it becomes a part of you and you a part of it.

 

“If those boys had had any understanding of me, of what I am, of the fact that I'm no different from anyone else around me just because the person I will love will be of the same gender as me... if they'd grokked that fact even a little bit then none of this would have ever happened. Not to me, not to Cody, or Matthew Shepherd, or any of the countless others who've been abused or bashed or murdered because of their preferences. We wouldn't have need for hotlines like The Trevor Project or groups like PFLAG. We wouldn't be fighting over legislation to grant gays the right to marry. I wouldn't have anger and regret and hurt over taking a friend, a boy, to a dance.

 

“Prejudice is ignorance. Bullying, bashing, and any other kind of hate is out of ignorance. Out of lack of understanding. If people grokked one another, much of the hate that fuels human history – not just the hate directed towards the LGBT community – would be a non-issue and, well, I wouldn't be standing here before you,” he shrugged. “And as much as I like Dalton so far, I wish that I didn't need to be here. I wish others would grok that our differences should make us stronger, not tear us apart.”

 

When he'd finished, Blaine swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat and headed back to his seat. He felt tense, like his skin was too tight for all that was writhing beneath the surface.

 

“Thank you, Blaine,” Ms. Chase breathed, tears in her voice though none fell from her eyes. “Mr. Beech.”

 

Kurt was still beside him, face forward and eyes downcast, hands tightly gripping the notebook before him. It was impossible to tell if Blaine's speech had made any kind of impact, but at least the anger and panic from the previous day hadn't returned. Instead, Kurt looked thoughtful, introspective.

 

Time would tell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know those wild inspirations where you say 'yes, this, exactly this'... that was grok. I can't even remember why exactly _Stranger_ popped into my head, but I know I was looking for something I knew something about well enough that I could teach a class in it. (The whole class bit was inspired Joss Whedon's genius.) Suddenly, there was grok. Such a wonderfully geeky thing with such power that its origin work still discomforts people. So there you have it.
> 
> I wanted to write more, but I felt like that was a good place to stop (and I couldn't decide what I would do when I reached Kurt's turn...). Confession: I've had most of this written since the day after I first posted, but I've been editing it and trying to get it how I want it ever since. I'm still not entirely pleased with it (as I said, I wanted to take it further), but I think this is what it is.
> 
> 'Stranger In A Strange Land' by Robert A. Heinlein is property of the Heinlein Foundation and is used without permission. Page reference is from the 'Berkley Medallion Edition, March 1968, Fortieth-First Printing'. Valentine Michael Smith and Jubal Harshaw are characters belonging to RAH.
> 
> As an aside, if you have never read any of RAH's works, I highly recommend you **not** begin with 'Stranger'. It is a wonderful novel and extremely intense, but is not a reflection of most of his works (aside from a similar literary style). His 'juveniles' (so much more than today's 'young adult' novels) are some of the most enjoyable stories I have ever read, as well as his works related to Lazarus Long. My favorites amongst his novels include 'The Moon is a Harsh Mistress', 'The Number of the Beast', 'The Cat Who Walks Through Walls', and 'The Rolling Stones'. There is a very good reason he is considered the Dean of Science Fiction.
> 
> Also, for those who have been reading (and take a gander at my author's notes): I am already working on chapter 3. I hope not to keep you waiting as long, but no guarantees (2 pages in).


	3. You've Got Mail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The odd thing about this form of communication is that you're more likely to talk about nothing than something. But I just want to say that all this nothing has meant more to me than so many somethings." - Kathleen Kelly, _You've Got Mail_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A timely post. Will you look at that? Who'da thunk?
> 
> This chapter... I didn't nitpick as much. Mostly because it was sticky and I just want to move past it. Some of it I had a blast writing, other parts I was pulling my hair out trying to slog through. I decided to cut it short (at least, a bit shorter than the last chapter) because I want to move on and the stopping point seemed as good as any.
> 
> Oddly enough, Life (the big factor in everything) has given me two things right now: two weeks off (no guarantees of extra chapters, mind you) and a terribly depressing let down in my career (nothing major, just a position I wanted, thought I was a shoe in for, but was given to one of the laziest people I know -- see, laziness pays off, folks) that ironically helps me get into Kurt's brain for this fic. That said, there's a tidbit of Kurt here. We're working towards more, just wait. Kurt's my favorite, why I wrote this from Blaine's perspective... the muse doesn't explain, it just tells me to go forth and do.
> 
> Oh and before I forget: thank you, thank you, thank you all you lovely people who are reading, commenting/reviewing, following, and otherwise being so supportive! You have no idea how bolstering and happy-making your words and deeds truly are!
> 
> Anyway, on with the fic.
> 
> As always: comments/reviews desired, constructive criticism appreciated, offerings of dark chocolate happily accepted, and haters, for the love of kittens, hate somewhere else.

 Chapter 3: You've Got Mail

 

_Sometimes I look at the world around me and wonder 'why'?_

 

_There are so many 'whys'. Too many to even begin to list them._

 

_I try not to be the kind of person who sits around and feels sorry for themselves, but everyone deserves a pity party once in a while. Like it says in_ The Crow _, “It can't rain all the time.” It just happens to rain a lot for me lately._

 

_I'm trying to get past it, but it's hard._

 

_'Try', that's another three letter word that plagues me. I try and I try and I try. Yoda's wrong, there's a lot of try. Doing is succeeding and people don't always succeed. I'm not saying I'm failing, but I'm not succeeding yet either._

 

_There's this boy. He's trying, too. Only thing is, I think he's succeeding. Maybe not in everything, but he seems to be moving ahead while I'm stuck here trying to even begin._

 

_He's trying with me, too._

 

_Maybe we can try together._

 

~o0o~

 

Kurt dithered over his decision, nearly crumpling the paper in his nervous fingers. Why was this so hard? It was such a simple thing, yet it caused his heart to race and sweat to prickle across his skin. It left his breathing uneven and ragged.

 

Pacing toward the door, he almost turned back, almost stopped himself. With a quick, deep breath he lunged forward, slapping the sheet against the thick wood and bolted for his own room. He didn't look back to see if it had stayed in place or fluttered helplessly to the floor.

 

He couldn't.

 

~o0o~

 

_'I'm sorry I screamed at you'_ the note read in an untidy scrawl. The heavy black ink was pressed deep into the fibers, indenting the sheet as if the writer wished his words to be driven home emphatically. It had been left unsigned, but there was no doubt who had left the memo taped to Blaine's door.

 

He took a moment to gaze at it – the raggedly torn edge, the slight crumpling, the bit of fuzz clinging to the tape. If the writing had been assertive, the note itself spoke of hesitance – hastily ripped free from whatever bound it, worried and fiddled with before finally finding its way to Blaine's door. Two stories, one otherwise unremarkable piece of paper.

 

Shaking his head, Blaine smiled and made his way inside. He was probably reading too much into it, seeing things for what he thought they should be instead of what they were. Kurt had probably just written out the note in a hurry and rough-handedly stuck it up before Blaine returned.

 

Only, he couldn't fathom the boy he'd watched meticulously place each belonging into a well cared for Marc Jacobs satchel doing anything in such a slapdash manner. There was purposeful intent there and Blaine was happy to have it directed at him.

 

Heaving a sigh, Blaine stuck the note to his pinboard and tossed his bag on the bed. Eventually he would have to retrieve it and begin his homework, but right now his brain was too full to even consider it.

 

After he'd given his presentation, the rest of the boys' orals had closely resembled a blur. When Kurt's turn had come, the boy had gotten up and promptly handed his essay over to Ms. Chase before retaking his seat. A smattering of whispers had risen around the room, but died quickly under the teacher's wrathful eye.

 

Blaine himself had been disappointed. He had wanted to hear Kurt speak, to hear what he had to say, to learn something about the mysterious 'Dalton Ghost' – even if it was something silly and trivial like a desire for people to understand fashion's place in society and how if they grokked that then they would ban Crocs for good. Anything really. Instead though, he had to resign himself to another time.

 

Glancing at the note again, Blaine thought that maybe that time wasn't so far off.

 

~o0o~

 

“And then he just handed the paper over to Ms. Chase and that was it,” Jeff was grousing when Blaine entered the dining hall later that evening. “How does he get away with things like that? If I'd tried it, she would have had the ruler out so fast my head would be lying at my feet before you could say 'uncle'.”

 

“Did you ever consider that speaking in front of the class might be traumatic for him?” Wes asked, prodding a green bean that had rolled too close to his roasted potatoes.

 

“Of course it's traumatic! It's supposed to be, it's an oral report!” The volume rose with each word until Jeff was almost shouting his discontent. “I mean, Banksy almost puked, but you didn't see Ms. Chase letting him just hand over his paper and go back to his seat. No siree, Bob!”

 

“I'm sure there was a good reason,” Nick put in, ever the kinder of the two. It wasn't that Jeff was unkind, really, he just tended forget that the same rules didn't apply to everyone, that exceptions were made at Dalton for a reason.

 

“Whatever those reasons may be,” Wes interjected. “It's none of your business. And I'd kindly remind you to remember that.”

 

“But-- Ow!”

 

Blaine almost snorted as Nick resorted once more to kicking Jeff under the table. Really, those two – if Jeff continued, he was sure to end up with black and blue shins for the rest of their association.

 

“I swear, Nicky, you kick me one more time and I'm going to do something nasty to you in your sleep, mark my words,” Jeff threatened with a huff, crossing his arms over his chest and glowering unhappily at his best friend.

 

“And I'm sure he'll enjoy it,” Wes chimed in with one of his cunning smirks. “Does he enjoy being spanked? Or were you thinking of covering him in whipped cream?”

 

Nick blushed hotly, pink rising along his neck and ears, while Jeff looked almost apoplectic. He sputtered, fighting to find words to express his indignation. Blaine could almost see the rage pouring off of him.

 

“That is none of your--” Jeff froze then deflated. “Business,” he finished flatly. He toyed with the peas on his plate, frowning at them as if they were the trouble. “You sneaky son of a... I really hate you sometimes, Wesley,” he muttered bitterly.

 

“Only sometimes?” Wes chuckled, obviously counting a win. “I'm glad you understand now. Whatever it is you two get up to, it is none of my business; just as whatever reasons Kurt has for his exemptions, are none of yours.”

 

“Yeah, I know,” Jeff acquiesced.

 

Blaine couldn't help but notice that neither boy denied such activities might occur.

 

~o0o~

 

The remainder of dinner was taken in silence and soon enough the boys parted ways.

 

“Wes, could I speak with you a minute?” Blaine requested as they came to Wes' door. As a prefect, the older boy's room was stationed near the entrance to the hall – a gatekeeper of sorts for the residents within. When Wes indicated they step inside, Blaine shook his head. “I've something to show you. It's in my room.”

 

They quickly made their way down the hall, Blaine glancing across and down at 22B before ushering Wes inside.

 

“I found this taped to my door this afternoon,” he said, taking the ragged note down and handing it to Wes. Blaine's body was thrumming with an odd energy. Even if it was nothing more than an apology, it was communication. Voluntary communication.

 

Wes' dark eyes lit with shock, gleaming with inner intensity. “Kurt?” he asked, nearly crushing the note before Blaine snatched it back and smoothed it out.

 

“Well, no one else has yelled at me recently,” he shrugged watching Wes' mouth work to find words. If he'd been certain before that Kurt refused even non-verbal communication with his peers, it was more than confirmed by the prefect's reaction.

 

“This is,” Wes croaked out, eyes agog. A brilliant smile wound its way across his face as he continued. “amazing. Seriously, amazing.”

 

Blaine grinned. “How articulate of you, Mr. Montgomery,” he commented, earning himself a smack on the shoulder for his smart mouth. “Anyway, I'm not really sure what happens next. I don't want to scare him off, but I also don't want to communicate with him.”

 

“It's certainly a delicate balance,” Wes agreed thoughtfully. An idea must have occurred to him, for Wes jerked back eyes locking on Blaine's. “You could write back. It doesn't have to be much, but maybe if you got him talking this way...”

 

“Almost like _You've Got Mail_ ,” Blaine beamed, latching on to the idea. “Only, hopefully without the animosity.”

 

Wes gave a scowl. “And without the Meg Ryan. And not just because you're both male,” he muttered. “Besides, I think Kurt is more the Judy Garland type.”

 

Blaine blinked. “This isn't some 'friend of Dorothy' joke, is it?” he accused.

 

“What? No!” Wes rushed to assure. “Haven't you seen _anything_ made before the 1990s? God, Blaine. _You've Got Mail_ is a modern version of _Parfumerie_ – don't ask me to try an pronounce the original Hungarian title – which has been made into movies and musicals over and again since the late '30s! Garland played the Meg Ryan character in the 1949 adaptation called _In The Good Old Summertime_.”

 

“Oh.” The blush that colored Blaine's cheeks was hot, but not overly prominent with his olive tan skin. He should have known better than to assume Wes, a Dalton man through and through, would say something off-color like that. “Sorry.”

 

Wes waved him off. “Anyway, there's that version. And then the one with Jimmy Stewart and Margaret Sullavan. It's a storyline that's been done to death, but the point is they communicated through letters, notes, even email.”

 

“They fell in love with each other in the end,” Blaine pointed out.

 

“Yes well,” Wes shrugged. “That aside.”

 

~o0o~

 

The first note Blaine wrote was simple, much like Kurt's own.

 

_I'm sorry I freaked you out._

 

He taped it to Kurt's door before breakfast, marveling at how the crisp white shown brightly against the dark wood contrasted nicely with the elegantly penned words.

 

Blaine had always been proud of his penmanship, practicing for endless hours to perfect each loop and curve. Teachers had praised his technique and the ease with which they could read his work. He wondered what Kurt would think about it. Would he even be bothered to?

 

Raising his hand to knock, Blaine paused. He looked at the note. No, that wouldn't do. It was _too_ simple, too short and limited. He wanted Kurt to respond, to be enticed into conversation. An apology wasn't enough.

 

Snatching the note back, Blaine added to it.

 

_I'm sorry I freaked you out._

_Please forgive me?_

 

Blaine smiled. Yes. That was just enough, to apologize and to invite Kurt to write back.

 

~o0o~

 

Saturday mornings at Dalton, Blaine learned, were so relaxed that it wasn't uncommon to discover a boy or two wandering around the halls in nothing more than their undershorts. Usually they were rounded up quickly and bustled back to their rooms to find some manner of clothing decent for public consumption, but not always. Occasionally they managed to drift all the way down to the dining hall, which is how Blaine discovered Jeff's penchant for superhero briefs.

 

“Jeffrey Sterling!” Wes shrieked, slamming his tray down on the table. “Go put some clothes on immediately! You don't come to your mother's table in your knickers, you do not come to the dining hall in them!”

 

“Wha?” Jeff blinked before looking down. There was a moment when his skin began to pink, flushing to a dark scarlet before turning disturbingly pale with a quickness. Without a word he fled the room.

 

Silence reigned for a tense second before the boys around them burst out laughing, large raucous guffaws and tittering snickers.

 

Wes scowled at the room, pinning the boys under his gaze. “That's quite enough,” he told them firmly, making eye contact with the other prefects in the room. Their laughter died away under the withering scowl and the boys returned to breaking their fast, eyes steadfastly focused on their meals.

 

Maybe it was the way his eyes narrowed, dark and intense, that made Wes so intimidating when he wanted to be. He certainly had a way with cowing a crowd of teenage boys.

 

Brushing down the front of his slacks, Wes seated himself and started in on his own breakfast.

 

“It's a good thing you're not out for world domination,” Blaine quipped, pealing an orange and shoving a section into his mouth. “You'd be a terrifying dictator.”

 

“I like to think I'd be a benevolent one,” Wes scoffed, buttering his toast. He took a bite and smiled wickedly. “So, did you leave our ghost a note?” he asked after swallowing.

 

Blaine nodded. “Yeah. A simple one, just to open the lines of communication.”

 

“Good.”

 

“What's good?” Nick asked, dropping into a seat. His hair was ruffled and damp, clinging to his forehead in messy wisps. Fresh out out of the shower, then, and probably had no clue that his friend and roommate had stumbled down to the dining hall in his unmentionables.

 

For a moment, Blaine considered deflecting – a throwaway comment about kittens and rainbows or bringing up Jeff's near-naked adventures – but decided against it. Nick was his friend and while this 'quest', such as it was, was his own he figured there was no harm sharing.

 

Still, there was no harm in teasing. “I'm attempting a séance,” Blaine said blandly. “Wes and I were just discussing the preparations I've made. I've made contact and I'm hoping my offerings are accepted and lines of communication have been opened.”

 

Nick stared at him. “What the hell are you on about?” he asked finally, looking certain that Blaine had gone completely mad.

 

Wes and Blaine shared a look then broke into helpless laughter. “The Ghost!” Wes chortled, “Blaine has managed, by some act of charm and honesty, to find a way to communicate with the Ghost. Well, actually, he managed to get Kurt to communicate with him.”

 

“What? How?” Nick sputtered.

 

Blaine's smile was chagrinned as he reached back to rub at his neck. “Uh, well, he apparently felt bad about yelling at me the other day. He left an apology note on my door.”

 

“This is big!” the boy declared, looking back and forth between them. “Seriously? Oh my God!”

 

“What are you 'Oh my God'-ing?” Jeff asked as he rejoined them – fortunately fully clothed this time. “Did someone win the lottery? Was it Blainey? It couldn't have been Wes; he's too uptight to gamble.”

 

“While this is all rather amusing,” Wes said drolly, scanning the room and noticing they'd garnered the attention of a fair few on-lookers. “I suggest we take this somewhere more private. I don't relish the idea of loose lips knowing more than they should, if you take my meaning.”

 

“But I haven't had breakfast yet!” Jeff protested.

 

“And whose fault is that?”

 

~o0o~

 

In the interest of avoid having to deal with a hungry – and thereby whiney – Jeff, the boys snagged a few portables to take back with them. Unanimously deciding on Wes' room, they lugged their spoils – including rounds of coffee and a carafe for refills – back to the dorms.

 

“I'm going to state this first and foremost,” Wes declared once the door was shut and locked. He glanced at Jeff and Nick, but included Blaine in his gaze as well. “This goes no further than the four of us. I do not want to hear even a whisper of this outside of this group, you got me?”

 

The three boys nodded, Jeff going so far as to cross his heart and zip his lips to show his sincerity. Blaine knew Wes was deadly serious. Gossip at Dalton could be construed as harassment and with the school's zero-tolerance policy it could spell expulsion for the gossiper. It wasn't only for Kurt's benefit that they keep quite, it was also for their own.

 

“I hate gossip, but I'm apparently a meddlesome old woman at heart,” Wes sighed. “Jeff, Nick, you both know of my concern for Kurt. How he seems to drift further and further away each day. Dalton is supposed to be a safe-haven, a place to heal and grow. I've been trying all year to find a way to draw him out, to show him that he doesn't have to be afraid of us, but so far my efforts have been for naught.”

 

Nick made a sympathetic noise, but held his tongue. Jeff was not so reserved.

 

“I never understood why,” he pouted. “We've been nothing but nice to him since he got here.”

 

“Sometimes it's not that easy,” said Wes with a frown. “I may not know his story, but I've been watching him. It's obvious that things before Dalton were... unpleasant to say the least. None of us –” he indicated the three of them. “– excepting Blaine, have come here out of a need to feel safe, to be protected. We can't connect with him. We can't empathize.”

 

“But Blaine can,” Nick put in, catching on with what Wes was saying.

 

“But Blaine can,” Wes confirmed. “I asked him that first evening to help me. To help Kurt.”

 

“So that scene in English class, it wasn't just some random blow up,” Jeff said mildly. “That was you, trying to what? Talk to Kurt?”

 

Blaine cringed. It had been an awful moment, watching Kurt cower from him – pale and afraid, then so full of anger Blaine thought he might combust. “Sort of.”

 

“It was a misstep.” Wes' mouth twisted in a bitter frown.

 

“One hell of a 'misstep'.”

 

“Jeffrey.”

 

“I'm just saying, it could have gone a lot smoother.” He turned accusing eyes on Blaine, showing him for the first time that silliness and callous comments were not all of what made up Jeffrey Sterling. “What was it you even said to him to make him flip out so completely? I've had classes with him since he started here and I've never seen him wig out on someone like that. And then he yelled at you! I mean, you had to have said something seriously wrong to get that kind of reaction from a boy who doesn't like to talk.”

 

Nick stopped his rant with a gentle hand on his forearm. “That's enough, Jeff,” he said softly. “It's not Blaine's fault, not fully. He didn't know his words would trigger that kind of response. You were so flippant about it before, what's gotten into you?”

 

Dropping his eyes, Jeff shrugged a shoulder weakly. Truthfully, he hadn't a clue why he was going off the rails like he was. It was like a switch had been thrown and all he could do was seethe. “I guess I'm just jealous. I've tried to talk to Kurt and he just looks right through me. Then Blaine comes along and suddenly...”

 

Blaine's tongue felt thick in his mouth. If this was how Jeff felt about the incident in English, how would he feel when he learned of the note?

 

A sick, twisty feeling churned in his gut, squirming under his skin like eels. It reminded him of how he felt after coming out: the black curl of hurt and shame as people he'd been friends with – some for as long as he could remember – left him, abandoned him because he was something they couldn't understand, couldn't accept.

 

He'd just met these people. He didn't want to lose them so soon. Not over this.

 

“I'm sorry, I--”

 

“Blaine, this is Jeff's problem. Not yours,” Nick soothed. “Jeffrey, you need to get over yourself. You're freaking Blaine out. Are you happy?”

 

Jeff frowned, turning to look at Blaine – pale and worried, wringing his hands as if gripping them together would help him hold on. “Oh, God, I'm sorry, Blaine. I didn't mean to-- God, I'm such a selfish prick. You're only trying to help and here I am being a dick because you got a reaction – and not a good one mind you – out of Kurt. Fuck.”

 

It was a testament to the state of things that Wes didn't comment on Jeff's language. Instead he shook his head. “Can we return to the matter at hand?” he sighed eventually, clearly distressed with the direction the conversation had turned.

 

“Yeah, shit, I'm sorry, guys.”

 

“It's fine, let's just... move on,” Wes suggested, determined to take back the reigns. “Despite the obvious failure of Blaine's first attempt, some good may have come of it. Kurt left a note, apologizing for yelling--”

 

“Screaming.”

 

“--at him. I'm not entirely sure what prompted this communique, but--”

 

“My report,” Blaine muttered in surprise, ignoring Wes' irritation at the constant interruption. “Do you think...?”

 

“It's possible,” Wes agreed. “Yes, it's quite possible.”

 

Nick looked confused. “What report?”

 

“Nothing--”

 

“Oh!” Jeff exclaimed, eyes bright with sudden understanding. “Oh, Blainey! You put yourself out there for him! You told us all your sad tale so he could know he wasn't alone!”

 

Blaine shifted uncomfortably as the other boy gushed, brown eyes bright with the glistening hint of tears. The complete turn around from his earlier ire was dazzling and confusing – another thing about Jeff that Blaine was coming to learn: quick to anger, quicker to forget.

 

If it wasn't for that fact, Blaine likely wouldn't have felt so befuddled by the unrestrained way in which Jeff regaled the event. Telling his story wasn't something he was ashamed of. No, he'd promised himself no more hiding – even if being open had gotten him into trouble before, he wasn't going to run. Dalton was a safe place, a place where he could practice being himself before having to face the terrors of the real world. So open he was going to be – even if he had to suffer Jeff's quavering limpid eyes; and his apparent clinginess for no sooner had Jeff finished his effusive commentary did he try and wrap himself around Blaine like an octopus.

 

Fortunate for Blaine, however, Jeff had significantly less appendages with which to smother him. “Jeff, please let go,” Blaine hissed, pushing at the gangly limbs. “Crushing me, here.”

 

“Oops!” Jeff giggled. He let go with a suddenness that send Blaine falling backwards onto Wes' bed.

 

“If you are quite finished,” Wes shushed sternly. “Nick, I suggest you reign in your boyfriend before he does damage to our potential Warbler. Jeff, sit down and calm down. Blaine...”

 

Wes' tirade stuttered to a halt with a heavy sigh. “Let's just get back to the topic at hand, shall we?”

 

“But we were--”

 

“Without the weepy commentary, Mr. Sterling.”

 

~o0o~

 

After filling Nick in on the happenings in English class and coming to the conclusion that, unless Kurt responded to Blaine's own entreaty, there wasn't more they could do for the time being. Declaring the 'meeting' over, Wes evicted them from his room so he could study.

 

“Study, sure,” Jeff drawled, giggling into Nick's shoulder as the three drifted down the hall toward their own rooms. “He's gonna call up Stephanie, see if she wants to get coffee or something.”

 

“It must be hard having a girlfriend and never seeing her,” Nick said quietly.

 

“Are you two really boyfriends?” Blaine blurted out, eyes wide with shock at his own audacity.

 

The three of them had stopped in the middle of the hall. Sunlight streamed in through the windows, bright beams in the otherwise dark corridor, casting shadows in sharp relief on the plains of the boys' faces. Blaine stood stock still, holding his breath and hoping he hadn't tread where he shouldn't; but he was curious. Wes was forever on them, teasingly commenting on their relationship, hinting at more or merely implying it – Blaine wasn't sure which.

 

“I mean, it's cool if you are or aren't, that is, I was just-- I'm sorry, it's not my place, forget I asked,” he babbled, feeling more the fool with each word that left his mouth.

 

Jeff's giggle silenced Blaine quicker than his own embarrassment and he stared. “Oh, god, Blainey, that was hilarious!” he wailed while Nick blushed furiously. “The look on your face!”

 

A soft 'oof' replaced the giggles as Nick recovered from his blush enough to jab Jeff in the ribs with his elbow. “Be nice,” he tutted. Looking more collected now, Nick smiled. “Yes, Blaine, we're together. Jeff's really a lot sweeter than he looks.”

 

“Hey!” Jeff protested. “Now who needs to be nice?”

 

“I'm sorry we didn't say anything before,” Nick continued, ignoring Jeff's pouting. “We weren't trying to hide it. We just...”

 

“We're us.” Jeff's words claimed so much with so little. They were Jeff and Nick, and Nick and Jeff. They existed with each other – an entity made of two people. Being boyfriends didn't change the fact that they were friends, and instead was just another aspect of them.

 

“Niff,” Blaine supplied, grinning from ear to ear. It was silly, but he understood it. They didn't have to declare themselves to him – or to anyone else for that matter – and they might not even think about defining themselves outside of who they were: together.

 

Jeff grinned back. “Exactly.”

 

~o0o~

 

There was a wobbly feeling in Blaine's stomach again, only this time it was fueled by nervous excitement.

 

When the three evicted boys had parted ways, he had been thinking about what it must be like to have the kind of relationship the two boys shared. He thought about his day dreams of meeting his own someone, of being so close that being without them was like missing a limb. Two people, connected – individuals in their own right, but so much more when they were together.

 

Blaine was so lost in the thought that he didn't notice the note until he motion of opening his door sent the sheet fluttering in his face.

 

“Oh, hello there,” he breathed, reaching up to catch the page between careful fingertips.

 

_There's nothing to forgive_.

 

Frowning, Blaine considered the words before sighing. No opening there. Dead end. He was about to drop the note onto his desk in defeat when an idea occurred to him.

 

Before he could even consider his actions, his pen was gliding across a loose sheet, the words taking shape and form and meaning. Just as quickly, he rushed to deliver it, following this new tradition and hoping it would be found.

 

With a smile on his face and hope in his heart, he turned and left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record, Wes doesn't like Meg Ryan because I don't. But Kurt does claim her part in _When Harry Met Sally_ so... it really fit quite nicely.
> 
> _You've Got Mail_ (Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks, 1998), _The Shop Around the Corner_ (Jimmy Stewart and Margaret Sullavan, 1940), and _In the Good Old Summertime_ (Judy Garland and Van Johnson, 1949) are all based on the play _Illatszertár_ (called _Parfumerie_ in English) by Miklós László. There is also a Hanrick/Bock Broadway musical based on it, entitled _She Loves Me_. /end nerd blurb
> 
> The quote from _The Crow_ , obviously doesn't belong to me. Neither does the one from _You've Got Mail_. (And while we're at it: I own nothing from _Glee_.)


	4. I like my coffee like I like my men...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Words can be like X-rays if you use them properly -- they’ll go through anything. You read and you’re pierced.” -- Aldous Huxley, _Brave New World_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was... difficult. I finally decided some things about this fic. And discovered I'd already begun setting it up to get there without even knowing my intended path. The brain is funny like that -- I get a big epiphany and look back and see that things are actually already set to take it on. But it wasn't an easy chapter the wrangle... Actually, I'm pretty sure it wrangled me. That said, things are going to start being revealed... we're no longer playing with a simple world. They're subtleties now... laying the groundwork for things coming, but the clever might have the sight to see. Anyone who wants to help me (test read, brainstorm, whatever), feel free to shoot me a line. I could def use some not-my-bestfriend-who-thinks-everything-should-be-like-that-Buffy-ep-where-she-can't-tell-which-is-real:Sunnydale-or-the-mental-hospital help. 
> 
> Anyway, still no beta. I've read this over too many times now to be sure, so any grammatical, textual, syntactical, anecdotal, and or spelling errors are all mine. And I'm too tired to care.
> 
> As always: comments, constructive criticism, cookies... I love them, I crave them (especially snickerdoodles... omg). Haters, hate elsewhere.
> 
> Edit (18:41 7 July) - And to attest to how exhausted I was when I posted this at 2am my time, I completely forgot to thank all you lovely people. The kudos droppers, the reviewers, the repeat reviewers, the guest reviewers, and all you people who have, are, and just might read this. Thank you!

Chapter 4: I like my coffee like I like my men...

 

_Do you like coffee?_

 

The page stared up at him as he stared down at it. It was one of those things, he reasoned. One of those strange things about communication – words, especially written ones, could stare you down just as readily as a piercing gaze. Spoken ones could be sharp and cutting and confused, misconstrued, but written down...

 

_Do you like coffee?_

 

He didn't like words, though he used to. Used to be, words were his dagger. His weapon against the world. Always ready with a sarcastic quip or witticism.

 

Once he had been a champion of grammar and syntax, memorized diction and pronunciation. He was a wordsmith, carefully crafting the tools of his trade.

 

Now though...

 

_Do you like coffee?_

 

 _Yes_.

 

~o0o~

 

Blaine grinned. He felt cheeky with cleverness and bolstered with cheerful hope. It was a blinding combination which had Wes mock shielding himself against its power as Blaine dumped himself into an open chair.

 

“Someone looks like the cat who got the cream,” he commented, watching Blaine prop himself up on his elbows and continue to beam.

 

“Canary.”

 

“We don't eat canaries here at Dalton,” Wes chided. “You'd do well to remember that. I take it your endeavors continue to be fruitful?”

 

With a chuckle, Blaine scooped up a piece of toast from the plate between them and munched on it before speaking. “I am a genius,” he announced.

 

“What did you write this time?”

 

“Actually, I left a coffee on his doorstep. I thought about writing something like 'tell me if I'm close', but that seemed too stalker-ish.” Wes seemed to agree and hmmed for him to continue. The coffee bit _was_ a stroke of genius, as far as Blaine was concerned. He didn't feel like Kurt would take too well to being invited for coffee just yet, but if Blaine could somehow guess his coffee order... or just make him smile with the effort... “Instead, the note says 'To help you jumpstart your morning. I didn't know your coffee order, but I thought you might like this one.'”

 

“That is rather genius. So what did you get him?” Wes asked. He sipped his own coffee, a strong black brew preferably percolated with fresh cream, Blaine knew.

 

It was one of those odd things he picked up on: coffee orders. He liked to try and read people, guess their order – a person's personality tended to reflect in their coffee order. For example, Wes' simple coffee: straightforward and honest with the ability to bite, but smooth around the edges and not overly bitter. Blaine himself liked a drip coffee, three packs of raw sugar, one cream: serious with a growing sweetness the longer you sipped on it.

 

Kurt was a new kind of challenge. Blaine knew next to nothing about the boy, in all honesty. Knowing someone is smart and gay and shy and possibly into cars – why else would he have one taped to his door? – didn't tell you much of anything about a person's personality let alone their coffee order.

 

He'd racked his brains for something he thought Kurt might like, throwing out ideas that he knew he couldn't access like cold press or percolated (because honestly, he thought a sweet percolated coffee and chicory blend, strongly brewed with sugar and cream turning it just this side of black creating a naturally chocolatey taste, would be perfect for the shy boy if ever he tried it). Instead he focused on the options in the lounge, bypassing the drip coffee without a thought and heading straight to the more complicated beverages. Something espresso based, milky and sweet. Macchiato was written off as well, too bold and loud in flavor – not enough finesse.

 

Eventually the debate came down to latte versus cappuccino. Blaine didn't bother to waffle over whole, two percent, or non-fat, foamy, no foam, or other... this was a first attempt. It wouldn't be perfect, probably wouldn't even be close at all. He did however decide that a shot of mocha was a must.

 

Simple, first try: mocha cappuccino it was. It was a richer beverge, but not over bold – and while Kurt was shy and looked a bit delicate, he didn't come off as a latte kind of guy. Too weak, too much milk, too little coffee too easily hidden by the sweet mocha syrup.

 

Wes' expression was amused as Blaine explained his reasoning in explicit detail. “You sure you're not over thinking this?” he asked between a bite of egg and the strip of bacon that was on its way to being devoured.

 

“I probably am,” Blaine agreed. “Kurt is not a coffee and his coffee order doesn't define him, but it's actually rather fun: guessing people's coffee orders by their personality. Take for instance, I don't know if Jeff drinks coffee or not, but he's totally one of those specialty drink kinda guys, the kind that baristas get sick of making because everyone orders the crap out of them. Like pumpkin spice with extra whip and cinnamon.”

 

“I think he had one of those a day while they were featured,” Wes mused aloud. Blaine was unsurprised. It seemed like a Jeff thing to do. “And Nick?” The older boy asked, clearly getting into Blaine's psychology of coffee.

 

“A latte, mellow and on the sweet side with a shot of caramel,” was Blaine's immediately answer. “Iced on hot days,” he added as an afterthought.

 

Wes looked impressed. “Mr. Anderson, you've spent way too much time thinking about this.”

 

Blaine could only shrug because he honestly had.

 

~o0o~

 

He waited as long as he could bear to head back to his room. Each passing moment made his skin itch: Had Kurt liked the coffee? Had he responded to the note? Was it too much? It was too much, wasn't it? He found himself constantly checking the clock, certain the second hand was running widdershins – as such would be his luck.

 

When he got to the point of chewing his nails, Wes sent him off with a scolding look. “You're making _me_ anxious. Go, check, or find something to occupy yourself elsewhere. This is a day of rest, so leave me to mine.”

 

The walk back to the hall was in fits and spurts. Blaine wanted to arrive and yet he feared it as well. Giddy feelings warred with the churning fear that he had overstepped. It wasn't 'til he found himself facing his own door that he breathed out a sigh of relief. For there, attached in what was becoming traditional fashion, was a note, folded this time, with his name in Kurt's untidy scrawl.

 

Glancing about, Blaine tore the note from the door and let himself inside. His fingers shook, dropping the page twice before he managed to open it.

 

_Thank you for the coffee.  
It was delicious. Not my normal order, _

_but lovely all the same._

_No one's ever bought me coffee before._

 

_I must ask, and don't think badly of me for it,_

_but why? After I was so awful to you, why are_

_you reaching out to me? Why the notes?_

_The coffee?_

 

 _Why do you care_ hung there – unwritten, unasked – along with _you don't even know me_ . Blaine knew it was there, even if Kurt had left it off. He could even imagine _is this some kind of game_ hovering close by.

 

The fact was, Blaine did care. _Why_ was harder to spell out. What reasons did anyone have for the things they did? For doing something that felt _right_ ? He didn't know Kurt and Kurt didn't know him. What could he say, really? Because you're smart, because you're beautiful, because you look so sad and alone and you shouldn't be, because your voice is something I could spend the rest of my life listening to, because there's a passion inside of you I know is crying to be released, because you intrigue me, because I'm drawn to you, because I want to _know_ you?

 

No. Those things were too much; and Blaine was sure Kurt would hole himself back up, lock himself away further if he were to say any of them. He had to be smart about this. Had to be careful in what he said, how he came across. He didn't want Kurt to think he was some crazy stalker.

 

_I'm glad. Perhaps one day, you'll deign to tell_

_me your order. Until then..._

 

_I could never think badly of you for being_

_honest. I'm sure this all looks mighty suspicious._

_After all, you don't know me – I could be_

_attempting to poison you or trick you._

_Which I'm not, by the way. I promise._

 

_No, I'm merely trying to be friendly._

_I hope it doesn't bother you. Because_

_I'd really like it if we could be friends._

 

Blaine smiled as he finished the last line. He hoped it was enough. Hoped it wasn't too much. It was a precarious position, this place they were at: past the one-liners and into the paragraphs, notes with names, folded against prying eyes.

 

With deliberate care, Blaine folded the page, penning _Kurt_ across the outside – relishing in the feel of the letters, the smooth flow of them as he fitted them to the page – before slipping out and along the hall to deliver it.

 

Warmed by the more extensive exchange and brimming with the possibility of furthered communication, he returned to the common room.

 

~o0o~

 

There was an itching at the back of his skull. A tingly sensation like perception. It buzzed and hummed, ever present but often ignored.

 

It had picked up pitch, rising and pulsing and climbing beyond the subconscious to a whining drone.

 

He'd felt it before. That sensation, the perceptive/receptive anomalous inconsistency like the subsonic shriek of vacuum tubes in an old television set – the frequency so high that it was imperceptible except as discomfort. Tinnitus the doctor called it. Piffle. He didn't _hear_ it. He _felt_ it – along his nerves, in his sinews, in the very marrow of his bones. It grated like the pulling of individual hairs from the base of his scalp, raised gooseflesh along his nape and down his arms.

 

Clenching his teeth didn't help and only seemed to make it worse, adding throbbing headaches to the mix and setting his jaw to aching in time.

 

_Friends?_

 

Kurt frowned. His head hurt and it was hard to think clearly, but _friends_ ? That other boy – _Blaine, his name is Blaine._ Wes had introduced them. They were... passing notes. Blaine Anderson. He'd even written it on the last one. Call him by his name. – _Blaine_ wanted to be friends.

 

And Kurt, Kurt desperately wanted a friend. But he was afraid. Afraid of things he didn't understand. Afraid of getting close. Afraid of what it meant. Afraid of...

 

_I'd really like it if we could be friends._

 

Oh how he wanted that.

 

The buzzing ceased.

 

~o0o~

 

_I'd like that._

 

Blaine smiled so widely his cheeks felt close to ripping. His heart had tripped in his chest when he returned that evening to find another note on his door, folded once again with his name in that delightfully messy scrawl. He wasn't the least bit upset that the note was short. Kurt wanted to be friends and that was all that mattered.

 

Hardly containing himself, Blaine rushed back down the hall to rap at Wes' door – a disgruntled glare answering him before smoothing over in recognition.

 

“He wants to be friends! Look, Wes!” He shoved the note under the other boy's nose before Wes could speak. “See?”

 

Squinting, Wes pulled Blaine's hand away far enough that he could see the scribbled letters which made up Kurt's response to Blaine's gentle plea. There was a shake to them, as if it had taken all of the writer's courage to set them to the page. Unlike the first, though, the paper was unwrinkled, crisp and clean save for the ragged edge where it had been torn from a notebook of some kind.

 

A knot that Wes hadn't known was there eased, his shoulders feeling looser than they had in ages – since Kurt had first come to Dalton, if he was honest. “So he does,” he breathed, relieved. He was glad that Blaine seemed to be making some headway. The draw was there, but he hadn't been sure it would be enough, that Kurt would slip away, that Blaine wouldn't be able to make the connection, and – draw or not – they would lose him.

 

Blaine beamed. “I honestly hadn't-- I mean to say, I had-- Well, I'd hoped, but never in my wildest--” The words rushed, tumbling over one another as Blaine tried to put them to voice. Exhilaration filled him and he felt light as air.

 

“I'm glad,” Wes said sincerely, releasing Blaine's hand and allowing him to clutch the note to him like a prize. He supposed in a way it was.

 

A stutter of thought crossed Blaine's expression, dimming the bright happiness. “What now?” he wondered aloud.

 

 _What now?_ indeed.

 

“Coffee seemed to go over well,” Wes offered for want of a better course of action.

 

~o0o~

 

Blaine took Wes' suggestion to heart, each morning leaving a coffee and note by Kurt's door – and each evening coming back to find a warm thank you attached to his own. Sometimes the notes were longer, but most were just a few words – thoughts, observations, innocuous and light.

 

The week breezed by and with Blaine's audition and induction into the Warblers, he spent little time worrying about Kurt's continued reticence – often responding in kind, short blips of words encouraging a response but not demanding depth.

 

The Warblers' enthusiastic welcome to their midst was even more heartening than his initial welcome to Dalton had been. The boys were excitable and energetic – and talented! Blaine couldn't believe his ears when he heard them.

 

Before Dalton, acapella had never been something he'd listened to very much. Sure, he'd heard some – his brother had tapes of some old Public Broadcasting kid's game show whose theme song was done acapella that he'd played almost constantly when Blaine was really small – but he'd never seen himself as the kind to be part of such a thing. Now though... The Warblers were fantastic, just amazing – the harmonies, the vocal percussion – and now he was part of it!

 

The group ran through a couple pieces, showing off for their newest Warbler with silly songs with intricate layers of voices mimicing trumpets and ukuleles and accordians with Andrew's deep bass flowing under the notes like a droning tuba. They whirled around and drew Blaine, laughing, into their dance.

 

Eventually, Wes called them back into order with the sharp rap of his gavel. “Gentlemen,” he insisted when the cacophony still persisted. His voice carried that strict tone Blane becoming familiar with and he figured, in this setting, it probably meant some kind of punishment was on the way for those who dared ignore it.

 

“That's better,” Wes continued once the room was silent. “We're all happy to welcome Warbler Blaine to our midst, but let us not forget that we have matters to discuss.”

 

“Pish tosh,” Jeff scoffed, affecting a snotty, posh British accent. “Competition season is over, Wes, and we don't have another concert scheduled for months. I think what we need to discuss is that stick up your--”

 

Nick's hand found its way to Jeff's mouth with a small smack, muffling the rest of the sentence.

 

“What Jeffrey means to say is: Those matters aren't so important, are they, that we should be spending time on them rather than intergrating Blaine into the vocal sections of pieces we already have arranged. He's a tenor, so it shouldn't be too hard,” Nick offered, throwing a signifcant look between Wes and Jeff that Blaine had no hope of understanding. “Get him accustomed to dealing with the harmonies and making sure he's able to focus on his own part instead of getting distracted by the rest of the ones going on around him. Especially on the eight-part harmonies.”

 

“Nick has a point,” Andrew put in, speaking up for the first time since Blaine had known him. The large boy was imposing – large in stature, wide shouldered and towering over nearly the entire group – but he was really more of a gentle giant, kind and considerate. “Blaine should get a chance to join us, now that he has, well, joined us.”

 

And that was it: Trent put in his two cents, throwing his arms around dramatically while Thad looked offended. Flint and Luke were arguing between themselves... on and on, it was a madhouse. The cacophony rose around them Blaine watched David drop his head into his hands and Wes bang his gavel ineffectually in a sharp stacatto. The Warblers descended into chaos.

 

“All I'm saying is, we _need_ to talk about--”

 

“You know we can't until--”

 

“Blaine's voice is dreamy, but--”

 

“He doesn't even have--”

 

“It's not the time to go into that--”

 

“What about Kurt--”

 

“Wes, you know we can't--”

 

“Has the Syn--”

 

“Quiet!” Wes roared, dark eyes blazing as he stood up and slammed his hands against the Council desk. “That is quiet enough!”

 

The Warblers ceased their bickering in an instant as his burning gaze leveled on each one of them. Silence fell on the room like ice and Blaine felt the chill of it like it had crept into his very bones.

 

“I was going to say, before Bedlam was visited upon us, that I agree.” The chill let up. Strange a sensation as Blaine had ever felt and he vaguely wondered if there was something Otherworldly about it before dismissing the notion as silly. “As our newest Warbler, Blaine should have the chance to be involved and, while we don't have a performance to prepare for, that doesn't mean we can't do just that. Nick, get Blaine copies of the tenor parts for the pieces we ran at Regionals. We'll try him on various segments and see where his voice best fits.

 

“Until then, Warblers take a break – just, get out of my sight for the next ten minutes.”

 

~o0o~

 

Practice ran on until dinner and by the time they left, everyone seemed more than pleased to settle Blaine into the more demanding vocals – which often, if they were competing, mean he would be front and center leading the chorus as it charged on into looping harmonies and – were they to acquire a countertenor – descants. A few of the boys could manage a falsetto, but no voice sung as sweet a descant as a boy soprano... though few enough were young enough to be considered such even should their voices remain unchanged.

 

But there was a point, while they sang, that he could have sworn he heard a high, trilling voice singing along with them – a voice that sounded very much like a soprano or a countertenor – but when Blaine stopped to listen the voice was gone.

 

~o0o~

 

Friday evening Kurt went home. Blaine knew this for two reasons: first, he had seen Kurt walking in the direction of the parking lot side-by-side with a very tall, gangly boy wearing a letterman's jacket. Second, Kurt had left him a note saying as much.

 

He was mildly disappointed that there would be no notes exchanged for two days, but Kurt _had_ been nice enough to let him know he'd be gone. Their friendship was an odd one, what with the notes and the coffees and little else otherwise – but Blaine was happy to have it.

 

When he joined Wes and Niff, David was with them. They looked up as he approached, faces carefully blank. It was disconcerting and Blaine sensed that, prior to his arrival, they had been in deep conversation. Conversation that obviously didn't include him.

 

“Um, hey,” he offered, trying not to feel put off by the strange energy that seemed to surround the quartet at the table.

 

Wes was the first to break the tableau, gesturing for Blaine to pull up a seat and smiling. “So how is Kurt doing?”

 

“He's going home for the weekend, if you must know. I thought you abhored gossip, Wes,” Blaine teased with a smile of his own. “And yet here you are, turning into a regular yenta.”

 

Sniffing, Wes gave him a hauty look. “I am merely concerned,” he replied with a lofty air before grinning again. “A yenta, really Blaine? I'm a mensch.”

 

“Sure ya are.”

 

The teasing continued for a while longer, Nick, Jeff, and David joining in and ganging up on Wes until he finally conceeded defeat and left to get himself a coffee.

 

“I saw Kurt leave with some jock after classes today,” Blaine said when Wes returned, tray full of coffees in hand. “He was wearing a red and white letterman jacket.”

 

“McKinley High,” Wes nodded.

 

“His brother,” Nick added. “Tall and lanky?”

 

Blaine nodded.

 

“Guy's like a giant and about as graceful,” Jeff put in. “He practically trips over himself to get Kurt in the car. Opens the door for him and everything.”

 

“Much to Kurt's displeasure.” David smiled as he said this, apparently having also been witness to the brother's attempts at mollycoddling.

 

“So he's gone for the weekend then?” Wes repeated, sipping his cooling drink, deep thought drowning his features in stillness.

 

“Yeah,” Blaine sighed. “Does he... does he go home a lot?”

 

Wes shrugged absently, but it was Nick who replied. “He used to go home every weekend, but with the special election coming up... well, I suppose there's not been a lot of reason for him to go home.”

 

“The election?” Blaine had heard that a special election was being held, but as it hadn't pertained to his district – and since he wasn't yet old enough to vote – he hadn't really paid it any mind. He had no idea who the candidates were, their policies and platforms... What did that have to do with Kurt?

 

“His dad's running for Congress. Most people don't even know – I mean, very few of the students here even come from Allen County, let alone are into politics,” Nick said with a nod. “But it seems to be a pretty fierce fight. Mr. Hummel's the only one who hasn't stooped to mudslinging and underhanded tactics.

 

“His campaign platform is really good, too. Pushing the arts in schools, gay rights, marriage equality, anti-bullying laws, among other things. He's not shy about having a gay son, either. Nor how proud he is of Kurt.”

 

Mr. Hummel, Blaine decided, was a man he would really like to meet.

 

“Nick's our own little political affectionado,” Jeff cooed, ruffling his boyfriend's dark locks.

 

“I am not,” Nick protested weakly. “My parents live in Allen County, this election is a big thing for us. If Burt Hummel gets elected, it could mean so many good things.”

 

“Sounds like it,” Blaine agreed, hoping the man was elected. He decided to make it a point to use his Google-fu to read up on Burt Hummel and the current Congressional election.

 

~o0o~

 

It was all there. Mr. Hummel's goals, the things he promised to work towards, supportive words from his customers – apparently the man ran a garage in Lima – and even a small spotlight on his family. Blaine tapped the link for that page.

 

A picture of the Hummel family graced the top of the page: Mr. Hummel, his wife, and two boys. Mr. Hummel was a rather normal looking man, a bit gruff and stiff in his suit with an arm around his wife and the other around the smaller of the two boys, but his smile was genuine and proud.

 

Blaine scrolled further down, noting there was a blurb for each family member. It went into little detail, vaguely mentioning background and accomplishments. It mentioned the garage, Mrs. Hudson-Hummel's nursing career, their marriage two years previously, Carole's son's position as Quarterback for the William McKinley High School Titans, but of Kurt it merely claimed that he attended a private school on an academic scholarship.

 

It was odd, he thought looking at it from an outside perspective, proclaiming the accomplishments of the step-son while glossing over those of the biological child. But Blaine knew something an outsider wouldn't: Dalton was a sanctuary, it was protection and safety, and if Kurt was here for reasons similar to Blaine's own then it made perfect sense.

 

Mr. Hummel was very obviously proud of his son – even inspired by him perhaps – it wasn't a slight or a brush off, it was purest love and the determination of a father to protect his son even as their family came under the scrutiny of the public eye.

 

Yes, Blaine was liking this Burt Hummel very much.

 

~o0o~

 

Monday morning broke bright and shining – far too bright and shining for a day in which he had to be in class, but Blaine wasn't going to allow that to ruin his good mood – he just reminded himself that January sun was just as cold as it was bright and he had classes with Kurt to look forward to.

 

Speaking of Kurt...

 

With efficiency he brushed his teeth and readied for school, tossing his homework into his satchel and heading off to the student lounge – and its rather expansive coffee bar for his daily caffeinated offering to the Silent Kurt – only to run headlong into said boy as he entered the hallway. They bounced off one another, Blaine catching at Kurt's arms to keep him from toppling to the floor.

 

“Hey,” he breathed, righting the them and staring down into Kurt's wide blue eyes. Something sparked within their stormy depths, brightening the gold at their centers. Blaine could almost feel them burn into him, a warmth boring through him deep into his core.

 

“Hi,” came the softest whisper, a ghost of sound between them.

 

Silence hung heavy between them for a moment, crackling inaudibly with something Blaine couldn't define. It wasn't uneasy, but there was a tension to it... like something lay beneath its surface and was merely waiting.

 

“I was just, um,” Blaine began haltingly. “I was just going to get some coffee. Did you-- that is-- I was wondering if, maybe, you wanted to, uh, come with me? To get coffee.”

 

He flushed, feeling foolish for babbling so, but unable to stop himself. Kurt had spoken to him – not screamed in lost control, but had intentionally opened his mouth and allowed that one small word to be shared between them... and Blaine didn't want it to end. He was determined to, at the very least, keep himself in Kurt's company.

 

He didn't know why it was so important to him, why he wanted these things so much, so desperately. Sure, he'd been fascinated with Kurt from the start and he wanted to help Wes help Kurt – but now, for some reason, he felt like he needed... what he wasn't entirely sure, but it involved Kurt – knowing him, hearing him, _feeling_ him.

 

And yeah, there was an attraction there: what self-aware gay boy wouldn't feel an attraction to Kurt Hummel? The boy was beautiful: smooth, pale skin; large, stormy eyes; soft, pink lips; dark, silky hair. What wasn't there to be attracted to? But that wasn't the all of it, though Blaine wouldn't be upset if things should go that way – no, it was something else, something he hadn't the words to describe, a pull of some kind, a draw.

 

“You don't have to,” he promised, eyes still on that elfin face which seemed more confused than upset. “It's just, I'd like it if, well, you did,” Blaine finished lamely, shrugging and only just realizing just how close the two of them were.

 

Kurt blinked, seemingly coming out of a daze. He parted his lips in a little 'oh' of surprise and stepped back, cool air whooshing into the space that now lay between them.

 

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean-- that is--”

 

“Yes.”

 

“I'll just-- what?” Blaine's thought train came to a screeching halt, had Kurt just...?

 

“Yes,” he breathed again and Blaine felt the world shake with the power of it. A dusky rose lit the apples of Kurt's cheeks. “Coffee. With you. _Yes_.”

 

“Yes?” Blaine repeated, stunned.

 

Kurt laughed then, the sound light and happy and in that moment Blaine had never heard anything so beautiful. If he had his way, Kurt would always sound like that – burdenless and at peace with the world.

 

Blue eyes bright, Kurt smiled. “ _Yes_.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Afterword:
> 
> For those not in the know...
> 
> The PBS program Blaine referenced is _[Where In The World is Carmen Sandiego](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Where_in_the_World_Is_Carmen_Sandiego%3F_\(game_show\))_ , a kid's game show based on the popular [video game](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Where_in_the_World_Is_Carmen_Sandiego%3F_\(1985\)) of the same name which was released in 1985. It ran for 5 seasons (296 episodes) from 1991 to 1995. 
> 
> The _Where In The World is Carmen Sandiego_ [theme song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cuzc4jgwlT8) was sung by Rockapella who also did many acapella jingles for various commercials (like this [one](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ujEqAi6-VGo)).
> 
> The song the Warblers first sing for Blaine after he joins them, in my head, is [Elephant Gun by Beirut.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SWSz_PAfgNc)


	5. Bonding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Such loving bonds,” Merriman said, “are outside the control even of the High Magic, for they are the strongest thing on all this earth.” - Susan Cooper, _Silver on the Tree_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some things before we begin:
> 
> I'm super nervous about this chapter. Like, biting my fingernails while writing it nervous because here comes the plot -- well, the lead in to the plot. The plot I didn't even know I was going to have until it hit me in the face a couple chapters ago and I've been slowly working it in to make it make sense... I hope it makes sense. I hope it's not horrible. I could babble on and on begging and pleading... I'm that nervous. I'm also really awful at making my hints so subtle that I end up slapping people in the face with things and making it confusing. I blame Joss Whedon, Steven Moffat, and Lynn Flewelling.
> 
> We're getting more into the whole AU aspect of the work and explanations are coming... I promise.
> 
> Also, thank you so much all of you wonderful readers, reviewers, and kudos droppers. I love every one of you! Don't be shy to drop me some words. I love feedback. As always, constructive criticism happily accepted, praise muchly wished for (but don't we all?), and hate please keep to yourself -- it's such an awful emotion, think happy thoughts, Peter.
> 
> So, before I scare you further with my outrageous babbling... On with the fic!  
> Amy

Chapter 5: Bonding

 

Coffee, for lack of a better descriptor, was great. Sure, the coffee itself was delicious – obviously far superior to coffee other schools might have even if it wasn't quite up to quaint shop on the corner quality – but what made the moment for Blaine was being there with Kurt.

 

They didn't speak, but that was alright. Silence together was better than silence apart, Blaine figured. Besides, just because he wasn't _verbalizing_ anything didn't mean Kurt wasn't _saying_ anything.

 

Early as it was, they had the lounge to themselves and Blaine took the opportunity to simply watch. There was a grace to every move that Kurt made, a finesse, from the way he carefully folded his napkin to dab at the corner of his mouth to the gentle dip of his head to sip from his cup. He was controlled, careful – yet smooth, as if he had practiced every possible move he could make and had honed it to a fine science.

 

But that was silly. No one spent that much time and effort on something so ridiculous. Did they?

 

Blaine shook the thought off, only realizing he'd actually shaken his head when Kurt gave him a questioning look. “Nothing,” he said, chuckling to himself and offering Kurt a wide smile. “Just a wandering odd thought.”

 

Kurt just shrugged, a tiny, shy smile curling his lips upward.

 

That was another thing Blaine found himself watching for. Each time Kurt smiled it made him strangely warm inside. And when Kurt would frown it was like his whole world had gone cold. It was the damnedest thing. Sure, he thought Kurt was attractive, he'd have to be dead not to; but why on Earth did he feel so drawn to him? He couldn't lie to himself and say it even had begun as just a favor for Wes.

 

No, from the moment Blaine had first seen Kurt he'd felt something – something he couldn't describe. It wasn't just attraction, that was something Blaine could have dealt with. Interest, certainly, but colored somehow. It was something more, something _else_. It was almost as if there was this invisible rope between them and it kept pulling, tugging, _drawing_ him toward Kurt. It stirred things, things Blaine wasn't even fully aware of, something fluttering – not in his stomach, but at the back of his mind.

 

He'd half thought to ask Wes about it, but what would he say? _'Hey, so I can't get Kurt out of my head. When he's in a room – I_ know _it, I_ feel _it, but I don't know how. Weird, huh? No, I'm not crazy. No need to call the nice young men in the clean white coats.'_ Yeah, that'd go over well.

 

So he sat there, quietly observing and being surreptitiously observed in return, until the other students began to drift in and – by silent, mutual agreement – they parted ways.

 

~o0o~

 

“I saw Kurt leave the lounge this morning,” Wes commented as he took a seat across from Blaine at lunchtime. “I've never seen him in there that late.”

 

Blaine hmm'd distractedly, stabbing a roasted potato with the tines of his fork as he scanned a rather troublesome page of Latin homework. After another minute he gave up with a sigh. Who cared about the conjugation of deponent verbs anyway? Wasn't it enough that he was fluent in Italian and Tagalog? Perhaps he should have taken French? Didn't Nick mention once that Kurt took French?

 

A gentle cough drew him from his thoughts. Wes sat there watching him with an amused expression.

 

“What?” Blaine asked, not at all liking the smirk that was creeping at the corners of Wes' mouth – like the other boy knew some secret and was just aching to share it with the class.

 

“Oh nothing,” Wes said with feigned disinterest. He pried at a hangnail, giving the offending piece of flesh a scowl before buffing his nails on his shirt. It was all rather ridiculous looking from Blaine's perspective. Wes had obviously watched far too many old, over-acted movies if his imitation of nonchalance was anything to go on. “So did you and Kurt enjoy your coffee date this morning?” he inquired airily.

 

“Yes, actually,” Blaine said before catching up on the conversation. With a shake of his head, Blaine grinned. “It was nice. Quiet. A lovely way to start the morning.”

 

“I'm sure it was.” Wes' grin was threatening to split his face. Blaine wondered if it hurt, having his lips stretched so far that their corners almost touched his ears. He reminded Blaine of the Cheshire Cat from the old Disney Alice in Wonderland... a bit mad. “He seems to be taking to you quite well.”

 

Blaine shrugged. “I think he's just... I don't know, I mean, we know he's shy. A bit skittish. But there's something...” It was another one of those things Blaine had noticed but couldn't seem to find a word for. Kurt, for all that he had seemed startled and nervous at first, had been calm around Blaine. They had sat together for a good half hour and there had been no tension between them.

 

“You like him,” Wes stated with gentle firmness.

 

Heat flooded Blaine's cheeks. “It's not that--”

 

“It is,” Wes interrupted. “I know you like him, it's written all over your face every time he leaves you a new note. Hell, every time you think of him you get a dopey look. You like him.”

 

Blaine really couldn't deny it – well, he could, but what would be the point? “I suppose I do,” he conceded, giving the remains of his lunch a none too gentle poke with his fork. “But nothing's going to come of it.”

 

Wes scoffed. “You're an idiot,” he declared. “This isn't some stupid woe-begotten romance series where the self-flagellating hero denies the possibility of a relationship with his beloved through two books before his beloved finally has had enough of his moping and tackles him off his horse to get him to accept the love between them. Blaine, he's been here for a year and he's spoken to no one, communicated with no one until you came along - and teachers don't count. Don't you think that maybe he just might see some of the same things in you that you see in him?”

 

“Yenta,” Blaine accused, but it held no bite.

 

“I am not a meddlesome old woman,” Wes countered grinning.

 

Blaine shrugged offering Wes a smile of his own. “If the shoe fits.”

 

~o0o~

 

He could see the note from the end of the hall – stark white against the dark wood.

 

After his discussion with Wes during lunch, Blaine couldn't stop thinking about Kurt – which wasn't exactly new at this point, but now it seemed to be more hopeful. He found himself daydreaming about spending time with Kurt, maybe getting the chance to hold his hand, watching him open up, seeing Kurt become the person he was meant to be. When English rolled around, he found himself practically staring. Was there really hope there?

 

There might well be, Blaine thought, snatching down the note and slipping into his room.

 

 _Blaine_ it read, the script far neater than in previous notes but still distinctly Kurt's. _Let me begin by saying that I enjoyed having coffee with you this morning. And, if you're not opposed, I wouldn't mind doing it again. You're easy to be around. You don't push or judge; and I appreciate that more than you know. I just wanted to tell you._

 

It was signed _Yours, Kurt_ without flourish.

 

Blaine's heart was beating rapidly by the time he finished reading the note, veins thrumming with excitement. He couldn't believe his eyes, rereading the note half a dozen times before flopping across his bed and staring up at the ceiling. The warm feeling from before was bubbling in his chest, radiating out along his limbs and cocooning him in its embrace.

 

Warm, happy, and looking forward to the morning, Blaine fell asleep.

 

~o0o~

 

Something woke him, a small voice calling his name or was it the heaviness of dark portent in the air. Blaine shuffled amongst the bedclothes, struggling his way from beneath the heavy duvet to reach for the bedside lamp. He blinked as the switch clicked home and a low light feebly lit the gloom.

 

“Holy--” Blaine nearly jumped out of his skin as he noticed the figure curled tightly around itself on his desk chair. It moved, lifting its head to gaze with hollow blue eyes.

 

“Can you keep a secret?” it whispered in a high voice.

 

The lamplight flickered and the figure flinched, dark hair falling across its brow and obscuring the preternatural blue stare.

 

“Kurt?” Blaine breathed. This, the person in his room, this was Kurt. He knew it, though he couldn't see him clearly, hunched as he was. “Kurt, what--”

 

“Can you keep a secret?” Kurt demanded this time, eyes aflame with _something_ Blaine didn't understand but could feel intensely. He seemed to tremble and blur and Blaine couldn't help but reach out.

 

“Kurt, I--”

 

“Can you?!” His pitch rose desperately.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Something's coming!”

 

As if called, a fierce wind picked up and swept in a darkness beyond anything Blaine had ever seen. The light went out as if it were a candle snuffed by the wind and with that came the terror. Choking black terror. Kurt's cries rose with the shrieking wind but Blaine could do nothing, frozen in place by the shaking that had taken him over. He tried to reach out, to call Kurt's name and the darkness rushed at him--

 

Blaine woke with a shock, shaking and sweaty, lying askew and tangled in the bedclothes. He held himself still, eyes flitting wildly about the room, searching for some remnant of his dream in the grey light of dawn.

 

A sick feeling ached in his stomach, rooted itself deep in his core. Even as he told himself it was all just a dream, just a nightmare the fear still held him in its clutches. Taking a deep breath, Blaine leveled himself upright. He felt weak, as if his limbs were made of jelly, but he needed to get up. Needed to move around, clear his head. Needed...

 

To see Kurt.

 

It didn't matter if it was all a dream, Blaine needed to see him, to know he was alright. Only then would the fear ease.

 

Driven by that need, Blaine slipped out along the hall. It was darker here, seeping around the edges and in the hollows between doors. He felt it along his skin like a caress,the embrace of his nightmare in every step. The air seemed heavier as well, as if it too felt an ominous foreboding.

 

He was standing before Kurt's door, hand raised to knock when the silliness of his actions struck him. It was a _nightmare_ , not some portent of evil. This strangeness around him but a holdover, the still vivid image of his subconscious taunting him.

 

Still, he would feel better if...

 

Suddenly the door opened and Kurt was there, eyes as wide and as frantic as Blaine himself had felt moments before. His hair was a bedraggled mess, damp clumps of dark locks sticking to his skin, tousled and chaotic. Blaine's name ghosting across his lips as he threw himself at the other boy and clung tightly.

 

Blaine could feel the tremors that shook Kurt's frame, the jagged edge to his breathing. They both shivered as the cold air prickled their skin and Blaine had the presence of mind to move them out of the cooler corridor and into the sanctuary of Kurt's room.

 

Moving them in the direction of the bed, Blaine did his best to settle them comfortably as he could. It was a twee bit awkward, trying to shuffle them up onto the mattress without removing his arms from around Kurt's shoulders, but he somehow managed it.

 

“The dreams...” Kurt was saying, words muffled against Blaine's chest as they rested against the pillows. He couldn't make out most of it, just bits here and there, his name a time or two, but for the most part it was a jumbled mess of words that just came out – half breathed, half spoken, some choked off in the middle. There are no tears though, just the hot humidity of Kurt's breath seeping through the wrinkled fabric of his shirt.

 

One had to wonder just how odd it was for two people to have nightmares involving each other at approximately the same time? Was there an explanation for that outside of strange coincidence? Was it possible for them to share the same dream, the same horrifying terror? That might be going a bit too far, Blaine thought. Yet here was Kurt, going on and on about a dream and darkness and fear – things that, from what Blaine could gather, sounded an awful lot like the happenings of his own night terror.

 

Out of sorts, Blaine just held Kurt, letting him cling and ramble all the while running a soothing hand up and down his back. It was kind of funny when you thought about it: here he was, standing in Kurt's dorm room, dressed in the same clothes he'd worn yesterday, wrapped around one of the most reticent boys Blaine had ever met in an effort to calm him from the nightmare that still held him in its grasp when he himself had come to see Kurt to ease the lingering discomfort of his own sleep disturbing dream. If the situation hadn't been so tense he might have laughed.

 

When finally Kurt had calmed, the room was bright with the morning sun. He was still mumbling, but it drifted in and out, fading into near-nothingness and broken whispers. Finally, Kurt's breathing settled into the deep and even pattern of sleep and Blaine knew neither of them would be attending classes that day.

 

~o0o~

 

“Where were you this morning?” Wes asked as Blaine made an appearance in the dining hall to grab Kurt and himself some lunch.

 

Once Kurt had fallen asleep, Blaine had lain there trying to wrap his head around it all. It was baffling, to say the least, and no amount of pondering made it any clearer. It was like something out of the Twilight Zone, the number of strange coincidences in- and outside of the dreams. Thoughts of it had chased him into a light doze.

 

His grumbling stomach had woken him sometime later, but Kurt slept on and Blaine let him, slipping out – after penning a note just in case he should wake before Blaine returned – to change clothes and find sustenance.

 

“I slept really poorly and woke up not feeling too well,” he half-lied following Wes into the food line. If it had been just himself, he might have gone to class despite the disturbed sleep; but Kurt had needed him and there wasn't even a remote possibility that Blaine could have walked away from him.

 

“Pull the other one,” Wes said dryly, snagging an apple and putting it on his tray. “It's got bells on.”

 

The moved down the line and Wes sighed. “Seriously, though. Whatever is going on, promise you'll tell me later. I already covered for you, but I want answers – and I want to know next time you decide to play hooky with Kurt.”

 

“It's not like that,” Blaine hissed, glancing around to see if anyone had overheard. “I don't even know how to explain it right this moment, but it wasn't – it isn't – we weren't – damn it, Wes, just come 'round later and I'll try to make it make sense.”

 

Irritated and wanting to get back to Kurt, Blaine grabbed a few portable items (wrapped sandwiches, fruit cups, cans of soda) and, swiping his meal card, headed back to the room.

 

The dorms were quiet at this time of the day, between lunch and classes, so Blaine managed to avoid running into anyone. He'd only realized after he'd stormed off that he hadn't asked Wes what their cover story was – a daft move on his part should he have had to explain himself to some wandering student or teacher since it would look suspicious if his story conflicted with his prefect's.

 

Not bothering to knock, Blaine let himself back in to Kurt's room, smiling as he found Kurt still asleep on the bed.

 

Laying there completely relaxed, Kurt looked far younger than he really was. Blaine hated the thought of waking him, of disturbing such a peaceful state. He needed to though, if only to get Kurt to eat something.

 

He was hoping they could talk as well. So much of the morning was confusing for Blaine and the confusion only grew as he tried to figure things out himself. He needed to speak with Kurt, needed to get a clearer picture of what Kurt had been saying – not just jumbled bits of words that only served to add to the strangeness of everything.

 

And strange it had been. When he laid it out, the biggest oddity – aside from the possibility that they had both had the same dream, of course, but he wasn't going to think of that just now – was finding Kurt in his arms frantically spilling out words.

 

“Kurt?” Blaine said quietly, squatting down beside the bed. Their faces were close enough that Blaine could see the scattered freckles that dusted Kurt's nose and cheeks, the tiny twitch as his voice stirred Kurt closer to wakefulness. “Hey, Kurt, I brought us something to eat.”

 

Groaning softly, Kurt rolled onto his side and buried his face in the pillow. Blaine chuckled as the other boy's nose scrunched up against the pillow as he fought waking. “C'mon now, Kurt, I'm hungry and I don't want to eat alone.” In a moment of cheek, Blaine reached out and ran a finger down Kurt's nose, lightly flicking the end. Kurt brought a hand up, swatting ineffectually against the pillow.

 

“Mmph,” he huffed as the movement jarred him, bringing him closer to consciousness. Blaine watched as his eyelashes fluttered, his lids slowly opening half-way before drifting closed again. “Nnnng.”

 

Blaine half expected him to mumble a request for five more minutes. Instead was greeted with Kurt's wide blue eyes opening all the way, clear and alert as if he hadn't just been sound asleep minutes before.

 

“Hey,” Blaine breathed, staring unabashedly at the boy before him.

 

Kurt, for his part, seemed to be unfazed by finding him there kneeling at the edge of his bed, staring right back. He seemed to hang there, awake yet maybe not quite attuned to reality yet. That sort of middle-state before the world comes crashing in.

 

“Feeling better?” Asked Blaine, brushing a strand of hair from Kurt's forehead and watching him blink.

 

The blink turned into a light frown. “Headache,” Kurt whispered as if only just realizing it. Tension began to creep back in where sleep had made him loose and Blaine wished he could take it away, push it back into the dark recesses and have it forgotten. “Get them. After.”

 

Running a finger soothingly over Kurt's finely arched brows, Blaine himself frowned. “After what?”

 

“Dreams.”

 

The word was soft, barely spoken, but Blaine heard it. “Dreams like the one this morning give you a headache?” he asked, still drawing idle patterns against Kurt's skin, feeling the slight nod against their tips. He used his fingers like a lullaby, hoping to soothe away the tension and offer relief. “Because it was a nightmare?”

 

“Because they come true.”

 

Blaine stopped dead. “They...”

 

“Come true,” Kurt repeated, levering himself up into a sitting position and hugging his arms around himself. The look he cast Blaine's way said he expected him to call him a liar or, worse, a freak – it said he was waiting for Blaine to abandon him.

 

He didn't know what to say, or do. What did you say to something like that?

 

What was more was that Kurt was talking and there was no way that Blaine was going to waste that precious gift. Biting his lip, he considered his options. He could sit there and say nothing, which was what he was doing that very instant and it didn't seem to be going so well. Or he could ask questions. That seemed like the best option. Especially considering his own nightmare that morning.

 

“Tell me about it? The dream.” he asked encouragingly, dropping down to sit on the floor and giving his knees a break. Blaine settled there knowing that the lower position would also give Kurt a more secure feeling – making himself as non-threatening as possible.

 

He wanted, no, _needed_ Kurt to feel like he could talk to him about anything and this was his chance – could very well be his breakthrough. Projecting his sincerity and interest, Blaine tried to assure Kurt, to tell him without words _I'm listening_.

 

“It was dark,” Kurt began finally, licking his lips in a nervous gesture. “Dark and cold, as if all the color and joy had been stolen from the world and there was nothing left but a shade of what once was. I could feel it, moving around, coming closer – I ran, through the dark, not knowing where I was or where I was going, just knowing...” He paused, rubbing his hands up and down his arms as a shiver traveled through him. “Just knowing I had to find you. I called out for you but it was like my voice was swallowed by the dark. I must have found a corner – or I thought it was a corner – and I curled myself into it, still calling for you even though it felt futile. But then a light came on and I was in your room and you were there and I just had to tell you. I had to tell you that--”

 

“Something's coming,” Blaine finished, locking gazes with the boy on the bed. Goosebumps prickled up along his arms as cold shot up his spine.

 

Kurt's eyes went wide. “Yes, how did you--”

 

“I dreamed it, too. You, in my room. You asked if I could keep a secret.” Suddenly needing to be closer, Blaine climbed up onto the bed. “I could feel the fear, all around us like a living thing. And as soon as the warning left your mouth the world erupted into chaos – wind and darkness ate away at everything and you screamed and screamed and I couldn't get to you, couldn't move.” Their knees brushed and Blaine reached out, placing his hand there, just barely touching but most assuredly making contact. He needed to touch Kurt, needed to feel for himself that the boy was real. “When I woke up all I could think about was making sure you were alright and then you were throwing yourself into my arms, nearly hysterical... I wondered, but... How? How did we share the same dream?”

 

“I don't know,” Kurt said, shaking his head and frowning in confusion. “I-I don't know.”

 

~o0o~

 

The dreams were just one of the many secrets Kurt kept locked away behind a wall of silence – the wall that Blaine was slowly tearing down. That was something else he didn't understand: how Blaine had come along and slipped past cracks in Kurt's defenses that he hadn't even known he had. He'd been so sure his walls were solid, impenetrable – until Blaine.

 

There were feelings he had, confusing and frustrating feelings. Feelings that told him he could trust Blaine, that he _needed_ Blaine.

 

And then there was the dream. How had Blaine been pulled into that dream? Because Kurt was certain that was the case. Was it Kurt's doing? Or was it something else?

 

It had been a strange dream. Stranger than most. It wasn't pure prophecy, those he was most familiar with. Such dreams were straightforward, like watching a movie play out. Other times he just knew things, not dreaming them at all. Knowing was almost stranger than dreaming; at least with dreaming he knew because he _saw_. But this... this was neither of those things.

 

This was portent – more feeling and allusion than anything else. Portent and more, it wasn't just that something was coming... was something coming for _them_? Was that what it was? Was that why he had needed to tell Blaine? To warn him?

 

Kurt groaned softly, his headache returning with a vengeance. Between the dreams, the headache, and the talking – so much more talking than he was used to – Kurt was feeling more than a little wrung out.

 

~o0o~

 

By the time Wes showed up after classes, Kurt's head was pounding so badly he'd had to ask Blaine to turn out the light and draw the curtains – but he didn't ask him to leave. Instead he'd curled up on the bed and laid his head against Blaine's thigh until the inevitable knock roused them.

 

Blaine drew hope from that as he quietly let Wes inside, bidding him to keep his voice down. “He's got a headache,” he explained in a hushed whisper, protective instinct welling in him so strongly it threatened to demand Wes leave and come back another time – a time when Kurt was feeling more up to the coming inquisition. “I tried to get him to take something, but he refused.”

 

Wes simply nodded as if he expected it – which for all Blaine knew he might well have, this was Wes after all. “I'll come back later,” he decided, turning to go when Kurt spoke up.

 

“No, it's okay,” he said softly, struggling to sit up. “I'd rather get this over with.”

 

Confused, Blaine shrugged and gestured for Wes to take the desk chair while he settled on the bed close to Kurt. Blaine wondered if Wes felt the same excited shock he had at having Kurt speak to him for the first time. Or maybe it was just him, his infatuation with the perpetually quiet boy.

 

“So I take it you know what I want to speak to you about,” Wes said coolly, directing his comment at Kurt who nodded and dropped his head against Blaine's shoulder – once again keeping them close. His thrill became cold shock when Wes sighed and spoke. “Tell me about the dream...”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't hurt me. I don't really like parts of this chapter, but I was struggling with it and finally just decided to throw it out there... It will likely get edited and revised when I get a chance, but for now.... Eh, it is what it is. I wash my hands of it and for now am moving on. 
> 
> And to those who get the big ol' obscure reference, I will squee (because even people my age are allowed to squee when we're excited). And the other references and things I vaguely remember throwing in there. Hope you liked it.
> 
> Also, I'm very excited because I have my title and theme for the next chapter already picked out. It goes so well with things to come... And I think soon other characters will start coming into play... They have their places, I just have to figure out when and where they begin to appear. Just thought I'd share that.


	6. Interesting Times

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Define 'interesting'.”  
> “Oh god, oh god, we're all going to die.”  
> \- Malcolm Reynolds & Hoban 'Wash' Washburn, _Serenity_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, that took longer than I expected. Between some crazy things (a very weird and awkward situation at work, my brother and niece visiting, and other insanities) I've been trying to rewrite this chapter. Yep, rewrite. I got 8 pages in and scrapped the majority of it because what was in my head did not come out very well... so a couple days ago I started again, took a couple things from the original version and threw out the rest to come up with something I'm much happier with.
> 
> Now, I'm fuzzy with lack of sleep... any and all funny phrasing and or glaring errors of grammar are completely and utterly the fault of writing on this for the last 7 hours and being too lazy/sleepy to go back and do a revision before I post it. I will fiddle later... after I've not been chasing a toddler among other things.
> 
> Again, thanks so much to all of you darling wonderful people who are reading, commenting/reviewing, dropping kudos, and PMing me! You say such nice things and make me blush! You guys are all fantastic and so encouraging! I love you all!
> 
> Without further ado, here's the usual bit: comments/reviews, constructive criticisms, and dark chocolate are happily accepted. Flames/hate mail/trolls, go away... don't come back another day. (Yep, I'm sleepy, I get singy.)

Chapter 6: Interesting Times

 

“Wait, hold up,” Blaine demanded, sitting up straight and dislodging Kurt with a startled squawk. “You know about the dream? I thought Kurt hadn't spoken to you. He certainly hasn't today – I've been here the whole time.”

 

Irritation colored his words brightly as they tumbled out at increasing speeds. Was he the butt of some joke? Was this whole thing a scheme to pull one over on the new kid? A hazing? Had someone slipped in and talked to Kurt while Blaine had been out getting them lunch? Or was Kurt in on whatever this was the whole time? He'd never seen Kurt speak to anyone, but that didn't mean he hadn't or wouldn't – it was something he'd been told, by Wes, by Jeff and Nick, the other Warblers... Was Dalton just another version of his old school, a pack of wolves in gentlemen's clothing?

 

But none of that explained the dream. The dream was real and, unless some seriously weird shit was happening at Dalton, there was no way _that_ was part of the fakery.

 

“Blaine, calm down,” Wes chided, cool and unflappable as ever. The green light of the desk lamp dimly lit the room, casting shadows across the chiseled planes of Wes' face and sinking his eyes into deep, glittering hollows. It was an eerie effect and did nothing to make Blaine feel comforted or calm. “I will explain everything, I will; but right now I need to know about the dream. I need to know what Kurt saw.”

 

“Both. What we both saw,” Blaine corrected smartly earning himself a startled look.

 

“What you both-- Dream sharing,” Wes stopped himself, muttering under his breath. He stared at them as if he were trying to pick them apart, discern something that could be read on their skin or seen beneath the surface. “I've heard of it, but I never thought... Never mind that now. We'll come back to it later,” he said with a shake of his head and focusing once more on Kurt. “ _Please_ , tell me about the dream.”

 

Put on the spot, Kurt shrank back against the pillows, arms around his chest in an impossibly tight self-hug. His hesitation was glaringly plain to read, as well as fear – fear of what exactly, Blaine didn't know but it assured him that Kurt wasn't involved in whatever was going on.

 

Blaine's heart ached for him, made him wanted to wrap Kurt up in cotton-wool and never let anything hurt him again.

 

“Wes--” Blaine began only to be cut off with a sharp glance.

 

“No Blaine,” the prefect snapped tersely, his resolve ironclad. “I know you want protect him, but I _need_ to hear it from Kurt. It's his dream.”

 

“How do you even _know_ that? And don't give me that 'I'll explain later' bullshit,” the curse was spat with a harshness that shocked both Wes and Blaine into momentary silence. Shaking it off, Blaine pressed on. “How did you know about the dream? How did Kurt know what you came here for? Why is the dream so important? What is all this?”

 

“Blaine.” Kurt's soft voice stilled his tirade, stopped the ever-rising hysteria that had begun to take hold of him. How was it that all Kurt had to do was say his name and the whirlwind ceased, his frenetic anger dissolving into nothing but a drooping tiredness of lingering frustration? It amazed him even as it frightened him.

 

A gentle hand landed on his shoulder, drifting up to brush long, elegant fingers against the juncture of his neck and shoulder. “It's okay,” Kurt whispered, eyes bluer in that moment – clearer, less stormy than normal. A strange calm resided there, given when he was being asked to do. It was baffling and strangely thrilling because Blaine knew – he just _knew_ – it was because of him. “He'll explain, but right now he needs to know.”

 

“If you're sure,” Blaine could only whisper, hand coming to rest atop Kurt's and holding it there as he looked deep into those bewitching eyes. Perhaps that was it, maybe he was bewitched, bespelled by this boy. Whatever it was he wasn't sure he wanted it to end.

 

“I'm sure.”

 

~o0o~

 

“That... doesn't bode well,” Wes said with a deep frown once Kurt had finally finished.

 

Blaine probably would have made a snippy comment at Wes' choice of words (“No shit, Sherlock” sprang to mind) had it not been for just how tense Kurt was, how drawn he looked even half hidden as he was against Blaine's shoulder. Instead he chose to reach a hand up and massage at the chorded muscles along the back of Kurt's neck, trying to ease away some of the headache that had taken up residence there. Kurt sighed and melted beneath his fingertips, so at least there was that.

 

He was enjoying this cuddly side of Kurt, but Blaine couldn't help wish it wasn't brought on by pain and stress. He'd much rather have had Kurt chose to cuddle with him just because he wanted to – because he was comfortable with Blaine and felt close to him – than because he hurt. It all felt crashing, like they'd found themselves on a runaway train and it was careening off the carefully laid tracks with no choice but to hold on for dear life.

 

“How did you know about the dream?” Blaine asked Wes quietly, chest rumbling with the effort to keep his voice down. Kurt hmm'd softly and shifted closer, beginning to doze off as his muscles loosened and relaxed.

 

Wes sighed. “Ask the hard questions, why don't you,” he joked though there was no mirth in his tone. “Look, I know I owe you – both of you – an explanation. And I will explain, but it's not a simple thing to tell,” he looked at Kurt, sighing again. “I have some willowbark tea in my room that should help with his head.”

 

“You're changing the subject,” Blaine pointed out.

 

“I know.”

 

~o0o~

 

Blaine sighed as Wes slipped out of the room. How did everything get so complicated?

 

Here he was, sitting in Kurt's room, holding him as he slept – something he'd never thought he would be doing, not here, not now – waiting for Wes to return with _willowbark_ tea of all things to what? Hear some strange tale about psychics and dark omens? To be told something crazy like 'You're a wizard, Harry'?

 

He scoffed at that. Yeah, right. A wizard. Much as he adored the Harry Potter books – and adore them he did, every last word – he'd never put stock in the idea.

 

Yet, there was the dream. Kurt's dream. A dark, ominous thing that had left his heart racing and fear tingling along his appendages like a live wire. And as much as Blaine wanted to deny it – because let's face it, it was more than a little crazy – he couldn't. Not having shared it, felt it, _lived_ it.

 

But he couldn't wrap his head around it.

 

“I hate the dreams,” Kurt murmured from his place against Blaine's side. The idle listlessness to the words told him that Kurt was still closer to sleeping than waking, but he responded anyway, brushing back the dark strands of Kurt's hair that fell across his ear.

 

“Are they always so dark?” he asked.

 

“No,” Kurt answered with a happy hum. “Some are beautiful. I really like the one with the stars.”

 

“Stars?”

 

“Mmhm, shooting stars.”

 

Closing his own eyes, Blaine gently rested his cheek against Kurt's soft hair. “Sounds beautiful.”

 

“It is. It's wonderful,” Kurt sighed and Blaine almost asked what it was about, but decided to let Kurt have this one to himself... it felt like he would be intruding on something private and treasured.

 

“Has it happened yet?” he asked instead.

 

“No,” the sigh was dreamy, a light airy sound that made Blaine think of bliss. “But it will.”

 

“For you?” he found himself asking, a tingling anticipation and hope buzzing along his skin.

 

“Yes.”

 

~o0o~

 

Wes returned juggling a tray ladened with drinks and a spread of healthy snacks. “I figured you might be hungry,” he said in explanation, setting his burden on the desk. Seeing Kurt awake, blinking drowsily up at him, Wes smiled. “How's your head? I brought you some tea.”

 

Kurt huffed, turning his face to press against Blaine's collar. “No thank you,” he muttered grumpily – the pleasant buzz he'd had while talking about his happy dream completely disappearing in the face of Wes' mothering. Blaine knew his head still hurt and his throat was probably sore and dry as well.

 

“Why not?” Blaine asked softly, one hand running through the soft thick hair at the nape of Kurt's neck. “Not even with some honey, lemon, and cream?” he suggested, spying the items on the tray. “It will make your head feel better. Right, Wes?”

 

He didn't know much about the tea, honestly, but he trusted Wes not to give Kurt something that would hurt him – whatever misgivings he had about the boy, that was not one of them.

 

“Yes,” Wes agreed, shifting pots about. “My mother's an herbalist and swears by it for her headaches. It's bitter on it's own, but I brought a variety of condiments so you can doctor it as you like. There's cream and honey and strawberry syrup Nick says makes all tea better – though I think he just likes how sweet it tastes. I even brought some semi-sweet chocolates.”

 

Kurt seemed to perk up at the mention of chocolate readily accepting the cup Wes held out to him and snagging a square off the plate. He dropped the chocolate into the tea as it steeped, waiting for it to melt fully before topping the cup with cream and sitting back to sip at the beverage. Blaine made a mental note to acquire some mocha syrup next time the need for the tea arose – assuming that there would be a next time.

 

“I believe I offered you both an explanation,” Wes remarked, sipping his own tea and setting it to the side. “I can't tell you much, unfortunately – not without the Conclave's permission – but I have been granted leave to give you a few answers.”

 

'Curiouser and curiouser, said Alice', Blaine thought blithely, wondering just what this _Conclave_ had to do with Kurt's dream.

 

“I suppose, firstly, you want to know how I knew,” Wes ventured receiving an affirmative nod from Blaine before continuing. “Prescient dreams produce a kind of... disturbance, I suppose... in the energies surrounding the dreamer.” When Blaine gave him a blank look Wes tried again. “Think of it like an earthquake. When a Seer has a prescient dream it creates psychic waves which disturb the surrounding energies. Someone with the ability to sense energies can see, in a sense, or feel those waves and disturbances. And just like with an earthquake, they can be traced back to their epicenter – in this case, Kurt.”

 

“And you can... sense... those energies?” Blaine asked skeptically.

 

Wes nodded, his smirk self-deprecating. “It sounds a bit batty, I know,” he said. “I wouldn't believe me either, if I were you; but that's how it is. When I saw you at lunch, I could see the shift in your energies, how they were... jangled, in a way that's telling. Kurt was the epicenter, but you were close enough to him – psychically – that the dream affected you. After you told me you'd shared the dream – that he'd somehow pulled you in – it made sense.

 

Kurt's energies, on the other hand, are an even bigger mess – and will be until the aftershocks die out. It's one of the reasons for his continued headache, which speaking of... is the tea helping any?”

 

Blaine smiled as Wes interrupted himself to check up on Kurt's wellbeing, which was rewarded with a halting and barely audible 'yes, thank you' before the boy ducked his head and continued sipping on his tea. The poleaxed expression on Wes' face at receiving a verbal response made Blaine chuckle softly. He was pretty sure he'd had the same look on his own face the first time Kurt had spoken to him.

 

“Anyway,” Wes said clearing his throat. “I had felt the upheaval this morning – woke me up actually, but I didn't have time to investigate then. Which is probably why I snapped at you at lunch,” he confessed. “I'm sorry for that. It was uncalled for; and being grumpy from lack of sleep and pestersome teachers is no excuse. I shouldn't have taken it out on your nor should I have assumed you were just skiving off.”

 

He accepted the apology graciously, figuring he probably would have been snappy and assuming too were he in Wes' place. It had been an oversight for Blaine to not make any kind of effort to at least let their prefect know they wouldn't be in classes that day, so the blame lay partly on his shoulders anyway.

 

“So you knew the dream had happened,” Blaine said slowly. “Why did you need to know about it? What if it had been personal?”

 

“The magnitude of the energy release was similar to other recent reports of similar dreams,” Wes said looking disquieted. “I can't say much more, but it was important that I find out if Kurt's dream was related. If it had been personal, I expect that even our quiet mouse here,” he smiled. “Would have told me where to shove my demands.”

 

Kurt colored brightly, but did look up to give Wes a dark affirmative nod.

 

Wes chuckled. “We'll get him to tear me a new one yet,” he sighed dramatically before turning serious once more. “I can't really tell you more right now, but I promise I will just as soon as I can. Get some rest, both of you, and I'll see you tomorrow.”

 

“Wait,” Blaine called after him. “What did you mean about being close to Kurt psychically?”

 

Pausing with his hand on the door, Wes was silent for a handful of heartbeats before he finally looked back at them over his shoulder. “Only soulmates can share dreams,” he said quietly and slipped from the room.

 

~o0o~

 

Gobsmacked, Blaine stared at the door. He couldn't have heard that right. There was no way. Psychics, prescient dreams, soulmates, what was next? Magic? Probably so, he thought dazedly. Kurt was probably some kind of mage on top of being – what was the word Wes had used? Seer? Could life get anymore unreal?

 

“I'm sorry.”

 

Blaine blinked, turning to Kurt with a baffled look. “What?”

 

“I'm sorry,” he said again softly. Curled in on himself once more, Kurt had put as much distance between them as was possible where they were sat on the bed. “You don't want any of this. You didn't ask for it. I-It ju-just...”

 

With a sigh, Blaine hauled himself closer and placed a finger beneath Kurt's chin. “It's not _your_ fault, you know,” he pointed out. “You didn't ask for this either. Life doesn't always give you choices.”

 

He could rail against all of it, but what would be the point? If it was true, it was true. If it wasn't, then it was one hell of a wild dream or some really out there joke where the guys had somehow implanted hypnotic suggestions in their heads to make them think they'd shared a dream and here in a minute someone was going to jump out and yell 'gotcha!' at them. Since that had yet to happen...

 

Well, he might not accept it all – though some of it did make strange sense when added together – he refused to let Kurt think for one minute that Blaine blamed him for anything.

 

“I never wanted any of this,” Kurt admitted softly, tears thickening his high voice. “I just wanted to be normal.”

 

“What's normal anyway?” Their eyes met and Blaine smiled gently. Wes had called them soulmates, had said soulmates could share dreams like they had... The concept had always intrigued the deeply romantic part of him: one person out there, out of all the people in the world, one person meant for you and only you.

 

The thought that they might be soulmates didn't bother Blaine one bit. Of all the things that had been dumped on him in the last 12-hours being told Kurt was his soulmate was perhaps the most acceptable – desirable even; because let's face it, he could have been landed with far, far worse of a person to call soulmate than Kurt Hummel.

 

“Conforming to a standard; usual, typical, or expected,” Kurt recited sullenly.

 

“That which everyone seeks to achieve, but never will,” Blaine returned. “Boring. Lacking in imagination and creativity. Incapable of understanding and accepting the differences in the world around them. That's 'normal'. I never liked normal anyway.” He smiled teasingly with a gently lift of Kurt's chin. “But I like you.”

 

Dropping his hand back to his lap Blaine kept his expression open and inviting, pleased that – even if he was being a little huffy – Kurt was talking to him.

 

“If we were normal, we'd never have met,” Blaine said conversationally. “No Dalton. No coffee. No notes. Heck, we might even be straight!” He pulled an exaggerated expression of revulsion as he said the last, earning himself a watery chuckle.

 

“You wouldn't have been beaten up if you were straight,” Kurt pointed out.

 

“True,” Blaine conceded. “But then I'd have to like girls and I don't know about you, Kurt, but I really like guys. Like, _really_ like them. And I _like_ that I like them. So while it's not a fair trade, I'm pretty content with it.”

 

~o0o~

 

They rested for a while, just sitting together against the nest of pillows that inhabited Kurt's bed.

 

Blaine hadn't thought about it before – when things had been so crazy that morning, or even later, when they had just laid there in the dark and certainly not while they had talked to Wes – but Kurt's room was really rather nice. Sure, all the rooms at Dalton were posh in a way that most dormitories were not – their rich, dark wood floors with thick plush rugs, heavy velvet drapes, carved bedsteads, and slag glass desk lamps spoke of the high class prep-school nature of Dalton as much as the grandiose campus grounds themselves did – but Kurt's room was enriched by the small touches the quiet boy had brought with him.

 

Each part of the room contained something of Kurt – from the gold-green velvet accent pillows and soft looking throw blanket taking up residence on the arm chair in the corner to the antique frame of the family photo propped amongst the books on the desk. It was all picked out with exquisite taste and a discerning eye for what would go with the decor of the pre-furnished room yet still speak of its occupant.

 

There were so many little bits and bobs that Blaine wanted to ask about, to know where and how and why and what they all meant to their owner, to Kurt. He knew there was a story behind each one, knew that Kurt had a reason for each choice – and not just the appeal of the aesthetic, but a personal reason. Blaine wanted to know all of it. He wanted to know _Kurt_.

 

The soulmates comment crept back into his mind and he had to wonder: what if it were true? He almost brought it up, almost asked Kurt if he'd heard it as well, almost asked what he thought of it.

 

“How's your head?” he asked instead. There was a clock on the bedside table – another quirky touch, aged and worn but still ticking on – that told him it had been a while now since their meager snack and dinner time was fast approaching.

 

“Better,” Kurt murmured, hot breath penetrating the thin fabric of Blaine's shirt where he'd ensconced himself at one point.

 

An idea occurred to Blaine, something semi-crazy – but what hadn't been crazy that day? “You hungry?” he asked, petting at Kurt's nape, running the baby soft hairs between his calloused fingertips. Kurt mumbled an assent and Blaine smiled. “Want to join me in the dining hall?”

 

Kurt sat up with a suddenness that almost knocked his crown against Blaine's jaw. “What?” he said, staring at Blaine as if he'd grown a second head.

 

Grinning, Blaine repeated himself. “Really, it's not all that bad. You don't have to talk or anything. But you know, eating around others is kind of nice,” he explained. “Besides, it might be fun. Get the guys in a tizzy. Shock the crowd. The Dalton Ghost makes an appearance at dinner.”

 

He was afraid he might have overstepped with that last comment, but to his amazement Kurt grinned. “Okay,” he said climbing off the bed and tossing aside the pillow Blaine hadn't even noticed he was clutching. “Let's.”

 

~o0o~

 

“Why does Mr. Pratt have to drone on so,” Jeff whined as he stirred his peas into his potatoes. He'd been considering going back for a second helping but Nick wouldn't let him until he'd finished the first – but he wanted more meatloaf and if he waited he was _sure_ someone else would swoop in and eat all of it. “I know the power went out this morning so a lot of the students overslept, but honestly. I mean, sure, he's got a British accent, but I think he likes the sound of his own voice a little too... much...”

 

His rant petered off as he caught sight of them, jaw hanging open.

 

“Close your mouth, Jeffrey, you'll catch flies,” Nick chided absently, swirling a straw in his drink as he skimmed the history notes that had set off Jeff's tirade. Neither of them would typically be doing school work at the dinner table, but Wes was running late and Blaine had been out – feeling ill after a bad night's sleep, Wes had said – so there wasn't much else to do. Besides, the earlier they finished their work, the more time they had to spend _together_ later.

 

“Nicky, I think you need to see this,” Jeff choked out, tugging on his boyfriend's sleeve.

 

“Do you want me to finish this or not?” Nick muttered before looking up to see just what it was that had Jeff in a fit. “What--”

 

“Hi guys,” Blaine said, walking over to the table with none other than Kurt Hummel trailing after him. “Mind if we sit?”

 

Recovering his manners first, Nick gestured to the open seats. “Please do,” he said offering them a smile and kicking Jeff under the table yet again. “I don't believe we've been formally introduced,” he commented once Kurt and Blaine had sat and situated their dinner before them. Nick watched with a growing grin as they swapped a couple items. _Interesting_ , he thought to himself. _Very interesting._

 

“Kurt Hummel,” Blaine said formally and with flourish. “Meet Nick Duvall and Jeff Sterling. Nick, Jeff, this is Kurt.” Turning to Kurt he added. “Nick and Jeff are in the Warblers with Wes and I.”

 

“Among others,” Nick said dryly.

 

“Among others, yes,” Blaine repeated grinning.

 

Nick nudged Jeff with his knee, hoping his boyfriend would get the hint and stop his carp-like gaping. It was a good thing Nick was used to Jeff else he might have been trying to hide an embarrassed blush at the other boy's complete lack of tact.

 

“So I see you're feeling better,” he said genially. “And you too, Kurt. Wes said you had a terrible migraine.”

 

Blaine flustered ever so slightly. “Ah yes, much better for having gotten some rest. We both are,” he said for Kurt giving the quiet boy a tender smile.

 

“Is he really real?” Jeff had the audacity to ask, eyes wide and stunned. He looked for all the world like he wanted to reach out and touch Kurt to make sure it wasn't some kind of hallucination brought on by too much school.

 

“Jeffrey!” Nick sqwaked.

 

Soft, tinkling laughter halted whatever else he might say in the way of chiding Jeff for his impudence and it was his turn to stare in shock at the boys before them. Kurt had his nose scrunched up and his hand over his mouth as he chuckled breathily, not in the least bit offended by Jeff's brazen inquiry.

 

“I assure you,” Blaine said with a chuckle of his own. “He's very real. No mere poltergeist, this one.”

 

This sent Kurt into another fit of giggles which ended in a breathless sigh as he wiped at the corner of one eye. He reached over and grabbed his water, taking a sip while still grinning. Nick had the feeling he wanted to say something, but long habit, perhaps, held him back. He watched, though, as Kurt's glittering blue eyes caught Blaine's honey ones in silent communication. _Yes, very interesting indeed_.

 

“Well if it isn't our very own East Wing truants,” Wes commented as he arrived at the table. “Scooch over, will you,” he directed at Jeff, placing himself between the usually talkative boy and their quiet newcomer. Looking around Wes frowned and asked, “Did Jeff manage to put his foot in his mouth yet?”

 

Almost honking with the newest round of guffaws, Kurt leaned on Blaine's shoulder to support himself – although with Blaine laughing just as hard it was a precarious balance at best. This time Nick joined in as Jeff's face broke into an affronted pout. “Yes, actually. You just missed it,” he said, giving Jeff's hand a pat.

 

Wes looked put out himself. “I always miss the good bits. It was good right?”

 

“Very,” Blaine assured him, handing Kurt a napkin to wipe his eyes with. The laughter had streams of glittering tears rolling down the boy's rosy cheeks in a very flattering way, one Nick himself was a bit jealous of. He was glad they could get that kind of reaction out of the usually taciturn Kurt, though. Perhaps they should have tried letting Jeff loose sooner.

 

With a resigned huff, Jeff went back to his food. “At least I'm good for a laugh,” he muttered around a mouthful of meatloaf.

 

“It's why we keep you around,” Wes nodded, shuffling his own food around until he was satisfied there was plenty of space between the portions.

 

Sniffling haughtily, Jeff reached over with his fork and flicked Wes' peas into his gravy. Taken aback by the unexpected retaliation, Wes just stared at his plate.

 

“Serves you right,” Blaine snickered, leaning over to whisper something in Kurt's ear that lit up the boy's pale face and brought his hand up to cover his smile once more.

 

“Why do you do that?” Nick asked, perplexed. “You've a pretty smile. You shouldn't hide it.”

 

“Yeah, Kurt,” Wes agreed, cutting away the portion of potatoes and gravy that had been 'contaminated'. “It's nice to see you smile.”

 

Blushing, Kurt looked away. He quite obviously wasn't accustomed to people giving him compliments and, despite his earlier show of ease, was still quite shy. Nick found it endearing and by the looks of it the others did, too. Including Jeff, who – in his typical show of mercuriality – was staring at Kurt with the look of someone who'd just spotted the cutest kitten in the litter and was planning on taking it home with him.

 

“You're adorable,” Jeff cooed happily as he scooped up a piece of pie. With a broad grin he turned to whisper secretly to his boyfriend. “Nicky, can we keep him?”

 

“Just remember you have to be nice to him if you want him to stay,” Nick reminded him, patting his hand affectionately. “I think Blaine would be mighty upset with you if you ran him off.”

 

Nodding rapidly, Jeff turned back to Kurt. “Kurty, will you eat with us all the time?”

 

Taken aback by the sincerity in Jeff's invitation, Kurt opened his mouth, closing it a few times before he finally squeaked out a tiny, uncertain 'yes'.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm excited... Kurt talked. And things... and bombs... and I really hope it all made sense cause my brain works in mysterious ways and communicating with other people, yeah, doesn't always work out (especially when I'm fuzzy brained like I am now). Did it make sense? Did you like it? More reveals to come. Stay tuned for the next chapter: Safe as Houses (at least, that's the planned title...)


	7. Safe as Houses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “[...] The really important thing to be was yourself, just as hard as you could.” – Mary Hodges (Sister Mary Loquacious of the Chattering Order of St. Beryl), _Good Omens_ by Terry Pratchett  & Neil Gaiman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apparently have a thing for posting every 10 days. Don't count on this, but I'm at least steady.
> 
> So I'm actually surprisingly happy with some of the elements in this chapter. Go me! (Which means it won't be as liked because when I like what I've written it seems to not go over with the audience... hm, strange that.) And I managed not to go maudlin despite finishing writing this while re-watching the Buffy episode "The Body". Seriously, I was almost in tears while trying to write and Anya was talking about how she didn't understand and no one would explain it to her. Anyway, so yes! No tearjerkers for you, at least not sad ones. I'm really not intent on making anyway bawl... yet.
> 
> Enough chatter! On to the thanks: I can't believe the number of reads and reviews and kudos this work is getting! You guys are awesome! I love you!
> 
> And lastly: Reviews are like coffee, sweet delicious fic inspiring coffee... I willingly accept VISA and MasterC-- I mean comments and constructive criticism. Flames and hate, please direct elsewhere as you so kindly have been doing.
> 
> Now on with the fic!

Chapter 7: Safe as Houses

 

It was a new experience; and as such it as strange and stressful as most new experiences were – at least to Kurt. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been included in a group of people who weren't related to him – taken in and wrapped up like he belonged (had he ever? Maybe, but that was _family_ ). Anxiety raced along his skin and ached in the back of his head where the fiercely clinging headache still resided.

 

He remembered being little, before what made him different made him undesirable as a friend – back when being different didn't mean the same things it did once you got older. There had been friends then, of a sort. Playmates, at least. Playmates and playdates with boys and girls his age, Power Ranger battles and Care Bear tea parties. They might have been there only because their parents had arranged it, but they had been there.

 

When things began changing – when the other children and their parents began to notice that he didn't _quite_ fit in, wasn't _quite_ what most people considered normal – the playdates became fewer and fewer until finally they stopped all together.

 

It hadn't been traumatic. There was no loss, not really. They hadn't been friends, just company. And for the most part, Kurt hadn't minded. He was more than content to play on his own, spending time with his mother – while she was still alive – and his father and later with his stepmother and stepbrother. He was fine with it, it didn't matter... at least that's what he told himself. Most of the time, he believed it.

 

When his dad and Carole began dating, he'd overjoyed – and a little worried. He liked Carole – with her warm hugs and her soft smell, the way she always made time to bake with him or do their nails – and was afraid that his  _strangeness_ would run her away and they'd be left alone again. It wasn't for his sake that he worried – he would always have his dad, but his did deserved happiness that Kurt couldn't give him. His dad had been so wonderful, so loving, so accepting, but he'd been lonely. No matter how many times he denied it, Kurt knew, he knew his dad was lonely.

 

When things grew serious it had been time to tell her, to make or break them. But Carole was nothing if not amazing. She loved him like her own son and didn't care at all that he wasn't quite normal, that there were things about him that made him so very different from other children. And Finn – sweet, wonderful Finn – followed his mother's example, including him and hugging him and not shying away just because Kurt was different.

 

He adored Finn. The giant of a boy was his brother in every way but blood and had stood up for Kurt more than anyone else aside from his father. He'd even subjected himself to playing tea party, on occasion, just to spend time with Kurt – despite his best friend's endless teasing.

 

They were a family, something that – after his mother's death – Kurt never thought they'd have again. Love and acceptance and happy encouragement given freely and readily. Choosing to send Kurt to Dalton had been difficult for all of them.

 

_Winter break was coming to a close and with it Kurt's time as a student of William McKinley High School – a fact that he had mixed feelings about._

 

“ _Why does he have to go?” Finn demanded, visibly upset as he watched Kurt meticulously folding and packing, unpacking and unfolding in preparation for his move to Dalton – a school in which he'd know no one and one that was two hours away from his family, the only people he'd ever been close with in his life. “Puck and I can watch out for him.”_

 

_Burt shook his head. They'd been over this same argument more than once in the week since the transfer had been approved: Finn asking why and Burt giving him the same answer he always did. “Finn, you aren't even in any of the same classes. There's no way you and Noah--”_

 

“ _Puck.”_

 

“ _\-- can be there at all times to keep him safe. Dalton's zero tolerance policy is enforced. That's the end of it. He's going to Dalton tomorrow and that's all there is to it.”_

 

_Finn glowered petulantly and huffed, but held his tongue knowing he wouldn't win – again._

 

_Later, when the two boys were alone he would wrap Kurt in a hug and tell him how much he was going to miss him – “You make the best grilled cheese, dude. And how are we going to have our milk together if you're not here? I love our bedtime milk.” – he would tell him he loved him – “You know, in a purely brotherly way.” – and kiss him on the forehead. And he would remind him that he could always come home – “Anytime, just call me and I'll come get you. I promise.” – no matter what._

 

_And Kurt would hug him back just as fiercely, tears glistening in his eyes as he listened and held on like his life depended on it._

 

_Kurt spent the argument focused on deciding what casual clothes to take for when he wasn't required to wear his uniform. Despite Dalton's policies, he'd decided it would be best if he didn't dress in his favorite and flashier things – instead sticking to jeans and button ups, a few printed t-shirts that didn't scream_ gay _or_ strange  _at the top of their lungs. He'd learned his lessons and while he might rather dress to the nines in the latest fashions he could afford on his allowance and the extra he made working at his dad's shop, being safe and ignored was more important. He didn't want to draw the wrong kind of attention – he didn't want to draw any kind of attention at all._

 

Yet there he was. He'd spent the whole day with a boy he hardly knew but felt like he'd known forever. He'd talked himself practically horse, spilling secrets he'd held deep in himself for as long as he could remember and now he was surrounded by a group of boys who didn't seem to care one whit that he was different.

 

Granted that could be because they didn't  _know_ – but Blaine did and so did Wes, at least some of it, and neither treated him any differently because of it so maybe Jeff and Nick wouldn't either. It didn't matter just then because he wasn't ready to find out. Not yet. It was all still too new, too uncertain – this thing, this socializing, this being accepted – and he still felt thin and threadbare just having Blaine and Wes know.

 

No, Kurt wasn't ready to test their acceptance yet. It was enough that they seemed to want to include him – despite his many and extensive efforts to avoid just that. It was enough.

 

He sat quietly, picking at his food while the boys chatted around him – listening to them, honing in on the sounds of their voices: the pitches, the breathy laughter, the guttural groans as they told bad joke after bad joke. He let the sound of them skate along his nerves – sizzling one moment and cool soothing the next – and felt their body heat as they jostled one another about good-naturedly.

 

His headache dulled as he began to relax, laughing on occasion – not the inescapable guffaws that had struck him earlier but soft, breathy things: high and slightly nervous, but trying. Dear God was he trying: because every time he did, every little laugh that escaped him, every smile that came to his lips, Blaine would look over at him with a look of such pride and happiness that his heart flipped in his chest and squeezed tight.

 

Kurt would be the first to admit – okay, maybe not, he would probably just stutter and blush – that Blaine was good looking, but there were plenty of good looking guys at Dalton and none of them had ever caught Kurt's eye the way Blaine had.

 

Wes had mentioned soulmates and Kurt had to wonder: was that why? Was he drawn to Blaine because they were two halves of a whole? Was that how this had all begun? He was drawn to Blaine, not because he was handsome and smart, but because they were  _meant to be_ .

 

His head was beginning to spin under the pressure of the thought when a question – startlingly directed at him – drew him from his musings.

 

Jeff's big brown eyes stared at him, wide and hopeful as he practically begged Kurt to join them for meals. It was dumbfounding – they wanted him, wanted to spend time with him even if it was only for meals. A warming shudder ran through him as he weakly stammered out a soft 'yes'.

 

Wanted. He felt wanted. They didn't even  _know_ him, they were under no obligation, and still they wanted him around. Tears welled up, but he held them back, choked them down and gave the group a watery smile and repeated the affirmation happily.

 

He only hoped they would still want him once they knew.

 

~o0o~

 

“I think we should convince him to join the Warblers,” Jeff said brightly as he took a seat next to Nick on the sofa. “His voice tinkles, like pure bells. I bet he can sing beautifully.”

 

From the side, Nick cast him a skeptical glance. “Even if he can sing, what makes you think he'd join? We're lucky to have him  _eating_ with us, never mind  _singing_ . I think that's a tall order just yet.”

 

It was a valid point, though Blaine secretly – okay, not so secretly, he wanted to hear Kurt sing as much if not more than Jeff did and had on more than one occasion since meeting the boy mooned about the prospect – wished Kurt felt comfortable enough to do more than sit with them. 

 

It had been two weeks – two wonderful, glorious weeks – since Kurt had first joined them, since the day and the dream, and while he ate with them – if what he did with his food could be called eating – he didn't really join in. There had been a few scattered words here and there, mostly 'yes' and 'no' – but Blaine was sure full sentences were on their way. After all, Kurt did talk to him.

 

At least, he didn't shy completely away from speaking around Blaine... when they were alone. He didn't initiate their conversations and he didn't offer extensive input, but he did participate.

 

And the snark! The one time Kurt let slip a snippy, snarky response Blaine almost fell over himself in shock. Kurt did, too – slapping his hands over his mouth with such wide eyed surprise and fear that Blaine was afraid he'd faint from the drop in blood pressure. All the color drained from his face save for the bright points of embarrassed red high on his cheeks. He refused to speak after that, retreating back into silence that lingered for days afterward until a tattered note found its way to Blaine's door with shaky letters that spelled out  _'I'm sorry.'_

 

He'd responded immediately, knocking on Kurt's door and surprising the boy with a hug.  _“Nothing to be sorry for, silly,”_ he'd whispered against Kurt's soft hair.  _“Nothing at all.”_

 

Their interactions were more subdued after that, but they also were more comfortable – in a weird way that made perfect sense in Blaine's mind. Kurt wasn't as on edge, wasn't as leery of misspeaking – but he still wasn't all that comfortable with speaking in general. And groups... he might sit with them at meals, but there the tension returned – and kicked up a notch. So as much as he'd like to try and convince him to come at least sit in on a practice, he knew it was too much, too soon. Kurt wasn't ready. Not yet.

 

But he would be, Blaine was certain of it. Eventually.

 

“There will be no pressuring Kurt into coming to a practice,” Wes warned as Jeff opened his mouth likely to suggest just that – not in so many words, but the idea would be the same. The exuberant boy was one of Kurt's biggest fans and wanted to include him in as much as possible – whether Kurt was ready or not.

 

It was an unspoken rule for the group: absolutely no badgering Kurt in any way shape or form and, aside from Wes' demand for a description of the dream the two weeks previous, it was strictly adhered to. Anyone – read: Jeff – caught trying to push the taciturn boy into something, whatever something that may be, would be punished in such a way as Wes saw fit. So far no punishment had needed to be meted out, but Blaine was sure given time Jeff would slip up in more than suggestion – it was simply in his nature to push.

 

“Now, if everyone's here, we shall begin.”

 

~o0o~

 

“I'm going home tomorrow,” Kurt said later that evening as they piled around in his room after dinner. Homework was finished and, while it was growing later, neither boy felt inclined to head to bed yet.

 

Blaine hmm'd a question, rolling over on the bed to fix his attention on Kurt as he spoke. The angle was interesting – the slag glass casting an eerie glow against Kurt's features, highlighting the rises and deeply saturating the hollows – and Blaine couldn't help but admire him as he waited for elaboration.

 

It was no surprise that Kurt would be heading home – the election was scant days away and most of the candidates were taking what time they could with their families before the final stretch. Well, all except for that Sue Sylvester person who seemed intent on slinging mud like it was going out of style. She was still hard at it in her attempt to destroy the credibility of her opponents – but her 'facts' were beyond farfetched and would hold no water with anyone who had half a brain. A baboon heart, really?

 

Then again, this was Ohio.

 

“Mm,” Kurt replied in kind. “Dad is home for our traditional Friday Night Dinner for the first time in a while and Finn wants to drag me to party his glee club is holding.” He said this last with a heavy sigh that Blaine couldn't quite interpret. Sure, Kurt and parties didn't mix – at least, Blaine didn't think they did... unless Kurt was leading a far different life outside of Dalton – but the sigh was also wistful in a way that left Blaine wondering.

 

He didn't ask though. Kurt would tell him if he wanted to. Instead he said, “Family dinner sounds nice. I miss the informal dinners my we used to have while I was growing up. Haven't had one of those really since Cooper moved to L.A.”

 

Kurt frowned thoughtfully. “That's right,” he murmured mostly to himself. “You're brother's an actor.”

 

“Yeah,” Blaine chuckled. “I suppose you could call him that. Really, he's more a pretty face. Someone acting like they're acting.”

 

Blaine grinned brighter as Kurt chuckled. “Isn't that still acting?”

 

“In a way, I guess,” Blaine agreed. “He could probably be pretty good if he'd stop thinking he knew everything there is to know about acting and maybe take direction once in a while. At least he gives a good dramatic presentation – even if it's not what is being asked for.”

 

“He sounds... interesting,” Kurt offered politely.

 

“I'm sure you'll have the chance to decide that for yourself,” Blaine commended idly, brushing a fingertip along the hem of Kurt's slacks. “He has a horrible tendency to just drop in, unannounced.”

 

They lapsed into silence after that, content to bask in the relaxed air surrounding them as they got lost in their own thoughts.

 

~o0o~

 

“Did you fall asleep in Kurt's room again?” Wes asked the next morning as Blaine stumbled into the lounge bleary-eyed and half-dressed.

 

“Only for a little while,” he answered with a yawn. “Didn't mean to, just kinda drifted off while we were talking. His bed's really comfy.” Jeff snickered as Blaine belated realized what might be derived from his statement. “Pervert! I was laying across the foot of it.”

 

“Of course you were,” Jeff placated mockingly.

 

“Whatever you say,” Nick chimed in.

 

“Not you, too!” Blaine moaned, dropping his head against the table and groaning. When he looked up again, the pair was grinning like lunatics – thoroughly enjoying his distress. “That mattress is imbued with magical sleep-inducing powers designed to destroy my reputation, I swear. Kurt and I did nothing; and besides, there is no _Kurt and I_ to speak of.”

 

“Not yet, maybe,” Jeff persisted with a snicker to which Nick finally responded with a smack and a muttered 'enough'. “What? Klaine is so happening. A blind man could see the connection between them.”

 

“Honestly,” Blaine scoffed. “Shut your face before Kurt shows up and hears you.”

 

“From poshy gent to tossing slang in an instant,” Jeff grinned approvingly. “Who knew you had it in you. But fine, fine. I'll leave off... for now. For Kurt's sake.”

 

“You'd better, because here he comes,” Wes pointed out.

 

“Kurt!” Blaine called to him excitedly, hurrying to pull out the extra chair so that Kurt could take a seat. 

 

He certainly looked more well-rested than Blaine himself did – as immaculately put together as ever from the gentle sweep of his chestnut hair across his forehead to the spit-and-polish shine of his black Oxfords. Boyishly sharp, Blaine thought, smiling at the light pink flush that spread across Kurt's cheeks at the attention. It highlighted the scattering of pale freckles that grace his fair complexion and brought out the blue in his eyes.

 

_Beautiful_ , Blaine found himself thinking, marveling once again at just how lovely his friend was.

 

Since Kurt hadn't brought up the 'soulmates' thing since Wes had dropped it on them last week, Blaine had been trying not to think about it, to think of Kurt simply as his friend – his beautiful friend; but each and every time he found himself staring at Kurt, noticing some little thing about him – be it a feature or the way he moved or some other bit of minutia that shouldn't stand out, not really or even just learning something new about him – it floated back up to the forefront of his brain.

 

Could they really be soulmates? Did soulmates even actually exist? Many people swore to it, spent their lives hoping and searching for their perfect match – some even claimed to have found them – but Blaine was... not skeptical, but hesitant to believe it. There was no doubt that the idea of Kurt being his soulmate was an appealing one – he was beautiful and sweet and the more time Blaine spent with him the more he felt drawn to him – but that didn't mean it was real.

 

So he quashed it down and focused on Kurt – no worries about soulmates or dreams or whatever else, at least not for now – just focused on his friend.

 

“Did you sleep well?” he asked brightly, all lingering tiredness gone as if Kurt himself were a burst of energy and he'd only been waiting for him to arrive to fully wake up.

 

Instead of answering, Kurt scowled at him and snatched at his hand, yanking him up out of his seat. Blaine's protests – and the other boys' snickering – went unheeded as Kurt dragged him from the lounge and down the hall – shuffling through the flow of boys headed the opposite direction – until they reached Kurt's room. The lock snapped open and Blaine found himself propelled in the direction of Kurt's  _en suite_ .

 

“Did you dress yourself in the dark?” he huffed softly as he turned on the tap and ran his fingers under the warming water. Sufficiently pleased with the temperature, he began to card the damp digits through Blaine's unkempt style – loosening the gel and reforming it into something a bit less slapdash. He tugged at the curls and twisted them lightly – giving them life and bringing out their natural elegance.

 

Once he was finished there, he moved on to straightening Blaine's uniform. “Honestly Blaine, you look like a bum,” he muttered as he tugged the collar into place and adjusted the tie. “If you went to class like that, you might scare the teachers – never mind the students. I'm pretty sure most of them have never seen a bum outside of the movies. You'd traumatize them for sure.”

 

“Sorry,” Blaine whispered, completely bewitched by Kurt's efficient movements and the outflow of words. It was so worth having dressed himself half asleep to have Kurt run on so.

 

Finally satisfied, Kurt stepped back to admire his handiwork. Every curl was tamed but left looser than Blaine normally wore it – styled, not smothered – his clothes were were righted and smart looking once more. Yes,  _that_ was more befitting a young Dalton man.

 

Giving Blaine an encouraging smile, Kurt gestured for him to turn and see of himself.

 

“How did you do that?” Blaine asked breathlessly, reaching up a hand to finger a curl gingerly, watching it in the looking glass. It sprung back as he let go, bouncing lightly and settling back in place. “That's amazing! I can never get it to do anything without a ton of gel. It just frizzes up. Far scarier, might I add, than bum Blaine.”

 

“Bum Blaine is quite scary, I promise. I'll show you how another time,” Kurt promised. “C'mon, you can admire yourself later. If we don't move now we're going to be late.”

 

Giving Kurt a smart salute, Blaine allowed himself to be guided once again – grinning all the while: who would have thought Kurt Hummel could be so assertive?

 

~o0o~

 

“Hey, Kurt,” Blaine called as he jogged up to where Kurt stood on the school's front stairs later that afternoon. “Getting ready to head out?”

 

“Just as soon as Finn gets here,” Kurt confirmed. His eyes were scanning the parking lot, looking beyond it to the lane that rolled up in a grand curve to the Dalton Estate. It was pretty land, filled with gorgeous landscaped gardens and cobbled walks. A large fountain lay at the center of the front drive's roundabout, splashing gently even in the depths of winter – some magic conjured by science keeping the water above freezing.

 

Kurt seemed nervous, on edge, in a way Blaine had rarely seen him since they had become friends – worrying at the lapel of his blazer with one long, elegant pinky finger, eyes darting about.

 

“Want me to wait with you?” he offered as Kurt's hand clutched spasmodically at the strap of his bag, drawing his fingers in tightly and ending his finger's fidgeting. “We could talk or sit or anything you want. Doesn't matter what.”

 

The nod he received was jerky, as if Kurt was only just paying attention an finding it difficult to respond. “Thanks,” he murmured, eyes darting to the road.

 

After a few minutes of silence, they both noticed the rumbling of an engine before the old Chevy truck rounded the bend. Pulling up to the curb, Finn jumped out. “Kurt!” he hollered happily, rushing up the stairs to scoop his step-brother up in his arms. “Man, I've missed you. You wouldn't believe what Rach--”

 

Finally noticing Blaine standing off to the side, Finn's words cut off abruptly. “Who are you?” he asked warily, glancing back and forth between Kurt and Blaine, ready to jump in between them at the slightest indication from Kurt that Blaine was not welcome.

 

“I'm Blaine.”

 

“You're _Blaine_?” Finn gaped incredulously, relaxing a hair. “ _This_ is Blaine?” he asked turning to look at Kurt who nodded. “But he's tiny!”

 

Kurt smacked Finn's arm and scowled. “He's not, you're just a giant. Besides he's bigger than me,” Kurt pointed out.

 

“Well, you're tiny, too,” Finn grinned teasingly, reaching up to ruffle Kurt's hair affectionally and earning himself a low growled out 'stop that'. “But seriously, _this_ is Blaine? I thought he'd be, you know, bigger. The way you talk about him makes him seem like he's ten foot tall.”

 

“You talk about me?” Blaine asked Kurt, smiling sweetly as the other boy blushed and stammered out a fervent denial.

 

“All the time,” Finn teased with a nod, ignoring Kurt's indignant squawk as he tossed Blaine a wink. “Seriously though, it's good that he has a friend, that someone managed to pull him out of his self imposed silence.” His joviality quickly turned to stern warning. “But if you ever hurt him – I know what you look like now. I'll have no problem finding you and making you wish you'd never been born.”

 

“Finn!”

 

“We clear?”

 

Blaine swallowed around his smile, reaching out a hand for Finn to shake. “Clear. And just so you know, I'd  _never_ hurt Kurt.  _Never_ .”

 

“Good, you'd better not. 'Cause my wrath would be nothing compared to Burt's,” Finn said, but he took the hand and gave it a firm pump. “We'd better get going then. You ready, Kurt?”

 

Without waiting for a reply, Finn picked up Kurt's bags and headed back toward the truck.

 

“Don't listen to him,” Kurt muttered, snagging Blaine's hand and inspecting it – making sure Finn hadn't done any damage. “He's a big lug and he's protective, but he's really a teddy bear under all that bluster. He means well, but I really wish he'd stop.”

 

“It's okay,” Blaine assured him, turning his hand in Kurt's and giving the boy a gentle squeeze. “It's nice that you have someone who loves you that much. He seems like a great guy.”

 

“One of the best,” Kurt agreed, smiling softly. “I have to go.”

 

“I know.”

 

“I'm going to need my hand back to do that.”

 

“Oh! Sorry,” Blaine blushed, quickly letting go of Kurt's hand and stepping back. “Have a good weekend, Kurt. Text me if you want to. Or if you're bored. Or whatever. You have my Skype, right? We could chat on that, if you wanted. And at the least, I'll see you Sunday?”

 

“Yeah, see you Sunday,” Kurt sighed then, surprising them both, he reached up and pulled Blaine into a hug before scurrying off to scold Finn about mishandling his bags – even though they'd both seen the giant boy carefully loading them in behind the seat.

 

Blaine smiled as he watched them drive off.

 

~o0o~

 

“So that's Blaine,” Finn mused aloud as they drove, hoping to get his brother to comment or even just fuss at him some more. It wasn't often that Kurt would open up, but since this Blaine character had come into his life Kurt seemed happier at least. He was a little more talkative, more likely to give his opinion than to shrug and let someone else decide. And yes, even fuss and scold him, but Finn didn't mind. It was nice.

 

Having a friend was good for him, in Finn's opinion. He couldn't remember the last time Kurt had had one – aside from him and Puck, and they didn't really count – so this side of Kurt was new and intriguing to him. At least, he thought that was the right word – intriguing.

 

Kurt didn't rise to the bait, though, sitting quietly on the passenger side of the cab as the engine noise rumbled around them. Finn missed his little brother, missed how he used to be before everything, but mostly he just missed him. Having Kurt away at Dalton left a hole in the family that even having Puck over most nights couldn't fill. It just wasn't the same. Puck was his friend, his brother in a way, but Kurt  _was_ his brother.

 

“Does he know?” Finn tried again, glancing sidelong to catch a glimpse of Kurt's reaction.

 

A sigh rose up, tightening the boy's shoulders before releasing them almost dejectedly. “Some,” Kurt replied tiredly, as if the effort of holding it all in was taking a far greater tole on him than he could continue to manage. Finn hopped that was a good thing, hoped it meant he would continue to open up – maybe one day be the Kurt he was before.

 

Before... it was something Finn thought about more than he should. He knew he shouldn't compare, shouldn't see Kurt differently, but the fact was, Kurt was different. He once had been so much more, so bold and strong-willed, outspoken even. It was hard to believe one incident had changed all that.

 

When Kurt didn't elaborate, Finn let it go – this time. If Kurt was sharing  _any_ of it with Blaine, then... well, there were so many thens. Thens which lead to hope. Thens which said Blaine might be an alright guy. Thens which meant Finn was going to keep an eye on both of them because if Kurt was sharing with Blaine, and Blaine wasn't all he seemed... well, he'd seen Kurt broken before, seen him in tatters and shambles and it was something he wished to never see again. So many thens, so much possibility for hope and for wariness and for despair. So many ways this all could go... Finn prayed silently to a God he wasn't sure he believed in and asked, no begged for him to let things go well for once.

 

“He makes me feel safe,” Kurt whispered to the still air and Finn prayed all the more than things would turn out right in the end.

 

~o0o~

 

“You met his brother?” Jeff asked incredulously, nearly toppling his drink as he jerked up in his seat. His lipid brown eyes were wide as saucers, comically large in comparison to his narrow face. “Is he as giant as he seems? Did he threaten you? I bet he threatened you.”

 

It really was more than amusing and Blaine couldn't help but tease him a little.

 

“He might have suggested he would rip me in two if I so much as looked at Kurt cross-eyed,” Blaine threw out idly, taking pleasure in Jeff's terrified expression. “But otherwise he seems nice.”

 

“A giant who threatens to rip you in two seems nice?” Jeff gawked. Turning to Nick he muttered. “Mental, that one.”

 

Nick rolled his eyes, his attention mostly on his dinner. “Sometimes, Jeff, you worry me.”

 

“So where's Wes?” Blaine asked. It was strange to arrive at dinner – especially running late as he was – and not find the other boy there waiting. He could count on no hands the number of times it had happened so far.

 

“Some phone call, I believe,” Nick replied with a shrug.

 

“I bet he's calling Jennifer or whatever her name is,” Jeff put in lasciviously. “You know, the bird at Crawford Country Day he's been attempting to woo. Maybe she finally gave him her number.”

 

Nick shook his head. “I wouldn't count on it. He's been chasing after her for the last two joint dances in a row – she hasn't accepted either time.”

 

“You never know.”

 

Blaine was about to toss in his own rejoinder when Wes strode through the door into the dining hall. He moved with a purpose, sidestepping the odd boy here and there as he made his way over.

 

“Hate to interrupt,” Wes said brusquely, stopping at the table and glancing between the three and gaze stopping on Blaine. “But I need to steal Jeff and Nick. Sorry, Blaine. We'll catch up with you later in the common room?”

 

Confused, Blaine simply nodded. Without argument, the boys rose, abandoning their meals and, with apologetic waves, they disappeared out the door behind Wes.

 

After they were gone he turned back to their empty places with their half-eaten dinners and frowned. That had been... odd.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * We'll get more into Kurt's background, I promise. But for the moment, for the sake of clearing any confusion (since it isn't yet explicitly stated): Kurt attended McKinley for the first semester of his Freshman year. He transferred to Dalton for the second. This began at the start of the second semester of his (and Blaine's) Sophomore year. Also, Carole and Burt met and got married a number of years earlier than in the series (I'm thinking around the time Kurt and Finn were around 10 or so...)
> 
> * The size thing, for those who were wondering (read gawping going “but Kurt is taller!”): this is season 1 Kurt who was all of 5'6” at the start of the show. In season 2 they're about the same height (5'8”) and then Kurt shoots up another 2 inches or so, reversing the heigh difference. That's where I'm getting this bit from. I spend way too much time thinking about these things and doing the dumbest research. ;) Just thought I'd clear that up, in case there was any confusion.


End file.
